


Toll Roads to Númenor

by mythras_fire



Series: Melethron [3]
Category: Alexander Trilogy - Mary Renault, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (English translations included), Alternate Universe - Fusion, Attempt at Humor, Dúnadan!Alexander (because Colin Farrell would make a badass ranger), Elvish baby names are beautiful, Established Relationship, Light Suspense, M/M, Mpreg, Over-enthusiastic use of Elvish Phrases, Pre-Lord of The Rings, Romantic Fluff, Sequel, SilvanElf!Hephaestion (because Jared Leto would make a gorgeous elf), The Author likes Jane Austen's writing style just a wee bit too much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 06:51:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3125084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mythras_fire/pseuds/mythras_fire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Expectant with their second child, Legolas and Aragorn await the arrival of a visiting couple to the palace in Gondor. However, when they arrive strange things start occurring, leaving Aragorn and Alexander at a loss to explain what is happening to their mates.</p><p>(Or: What to Expect When You're Expecting- The Royal Elf Version :P)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sunsets in Gondor

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I do not own The Lord of the Rings, Alexander, or related parties. I am merely a fan of the genre. All quotes and Elvish words are copyrights of J.R.R. Tolkien. Alexander and Hephaestion belong to history. Any other likenesses are inspired by Mary Renault's characterizations from Fire from Heaven.
> 
>  **A/N:** AU, before the time of the Fellowship of the Ring, story picks up four years after ending of Melethron and Guess Who's Coming to Dinner? - A Melethron Interlude. It is recommended that you read those first otherwise there are aspects and events in this story that you will not know about or understand. Cover art by me, begun under a different user name :).
> 
>  **Dedication:** To everyone at Mirrormere who ~~*cough*like9yearsago*cough*~~ expressed such wonderful sentiments about the first story and wanted to see a sequel. Thank you so much. And to the readers here on AO3 who come to read this story every year at Christmastime and leave kudos haha, I'm posting this first chapter now before wintertime is over :P.

  


*~**~**~**~**~**~*

Sunsets in Gondor were always a beauty to behold. The Bay of Belfalas shimmered in a golden display of light on water, tinting the surrounding sky a soft yellow that blended into orange when met with the fiery red-reflected clouds hovering above the descending Sun. Up in the mountains where one could not glimpse the eclipse of the Sun being swallowed by the sea, one was instead showered with the striking beauty of rays of light streaking through long and narrow crags in the mountainside, gifting parts of the land with fading luminescence and casting other parts into shadow. At this altitude one was afforded the spectacular view of the Pelennor Fields sprawling before the towering seat of the realm of Gondor, the Southern Kingdom. Looking out from the foothills in Northern Ithilien across the great river Anduin, the White City shone brightly in the light of the westering Sun, standing guard at the base of the White Mountains, ever watchful of the dark realm that lay beyond the Ephel Dúath mountain range rising up behind Ithilien.

The Ranger turned to the statuesque Elf standing at his side. The last rays of the Sun had caught in the Elf’s long, golden brown tresses. The braids worn by the noble class were tucked behind the curved-tip ears and whipped around gently in the cool breeze riding in on the wave of twilight. Eyes the color of the rich, brown earth stared out over the plains looking towards Minas Tirith, quietly taking in everything around him, studying his surroundings the way a General studies his terrain before battle. The wood Elf stood there with a casual grace, his hands clasped behind his back. His grey-green tunic ruffled in the wind. The tunic had been altered and was wrapped comfortably around the protuberance protecting the child growing inside the Elf’s body.

The Man put his right hand over the bump in the Elf’s stomach and almost immediately felt a little Elven hand press back against his palm. He smiled and looked up into the eyes of his mate.

“Did you feel that? He already recognizes his papa,” the Man asked in Sindarin, the language of Elfkind. When it came to his child he could not contain his joy and the hardened warrior disappeared to be replaced by a Man who would nightly lie by his husband’s side, whispering to the child, regaling him with tales of great deeds and valiant Elves and Men of long ago while his beloved watched. It was one of his favorite ways to spend the evening. 

“I did, _meleth_. He always knows when you are near,” The Elf said serenely. He placed his hand over the Ranger’s and they stood there a moment, enjoying the view before they turned back to their campfire down the hill.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
meleth- love  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Time to awaken and meet the dawn, love,” Aragorn said sweetly in Sindarin as he walked into the bedchamber where his husband was sleeping like the dead. Being with child made the Elf so tired that he actually slept in the manner of humans, in an unconscious state, instead of the dream-like state where Elves go to meditate and rest their immortal souls until they resume their wanderings.

Receiving no answer Aragorn walked up to the bedside and pulled the warm, fur-lined blanket down over the bare opalescent, muscled chest of his mate. Even now after four long years, Legolas was still a sight to behold, and still managed to take Aragorn’s breath away on many an occasion, right now being one of an infinite number to come. The king was abruptly torn from his reverie, however, when an elegant, long-fingered hand reached down and unceremoniously yanked the blanket back up and over the tousled blonde head to hide from the light and from Aragorn’s very inappropriate request that he should awaken for anything at all. 

Legolas was unused to this taxing state of sleep that Men required to function from day to day. He found it a rather annoying and tedious waste of his time. ‘Although,’ he thought bitterly, his hands still tightly gripping the sheet over his head as he heard Aragorn’s loud, human breathing looming above him, ‘it is not as if I have anything of value or necessity with which to fill my time, except to lie here like a common hen, waiting for my egg to hatch.’ For that insolent thought Legolas was rewarded with a jab to the inside of his womb, where his affronted offspring was currently pouting. 

“ _Goheno nin_ , little one,” Legolas whispered to his daughter, Tinúviel. He knew she felt his anguish at not feeling useful for other duties like attending to his four-year-old son, Thoron, or helping Aragorn with his duties as King Elessar, because he had been ordered to keep to his bed until the baby was born. They often shared their thoughts during the day and sometimes at night, when Legolas would lie awake while Aragorn slept with his arm wrapped protectively around Legolas’ abdomen. Tinúviel would sometimes play with Aragorn’s hand when he pressed it against the womb. She would press against his wherever he placed a finger or a thumb, tracking it as he drew little Rune or Elven symbols on Legolas’ skin.

“Did she kick you again?” the smug voice said from the other side of the blanket.

“Yes,” Legolas said with resignation.

“Then perhaps you ought to stop vexing her. You know she will not let you vent your frustrations on her. I cannot wait until she is older, then we will really see how much like her _adar_ she is.”

At this, Legolas threw down the blanket to glare at a smirking Dúnadan. “And how, may I ask, do you know that she will not be like her father? It is commonly understood that Elves do not express such base emotions willingly,” and promptly pulled the cover back up.

Aragorn threw his head back and laughed at Legolas’ adorable stubbornness and his adorably foul mood. In the end, Legolas was simply adorable, even if his expectant state made Aragorn want to scream sometimes. This temporary sacrifice that Legolas had made so that their children could be brought into this world was the greatest gift that the Valar could ever bestow upon a Man forever in love with one of the First Born.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
goheno nin- forgive me  
adar- father  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The Ranger and the Elf set out across the Pelennor Fields the next morning at daybreak. They still had half a day’s march ahead of them before they would reach the ruins of Osgiliath, the fort city that had once stood guard below the seven-tiered city of Minas Tirith. No one lived in Osgiliath anymore except for the King’s Guard, whose duty it was to patrol the outer reaches of the realm with a wary eye for any strange occurrences emanating from the dark realm of Mordor on the eastern horizon. As it was, even the Guard did not dwell there ever long, instead, commuting back and forth from the lower levels of the White City to the ruins in changing shifts. The Captain of the Guard led the most elite company of Rohirrim, horsemasters who were largely the King’s eyes and ears for goings-on in and outside of Gondor.

Around midday the two travelers made their way over the first of a series of low bridges spanning a tributary of the great river Anduin, into Osgiliath. Here they were halted by the Guards on duty and asked their business in Gondor. The Ranger told them they were expected and that presumably a letter from the Lady of the Golden Wood had already arrived bearing her blessing of such messengers as they. Said letter was found, and not without a bit of leery awe were they bid passage under the sagging gates of Osgiliath on towards Minas Tirith. 

The Elf was well aware of the uneasy yet intrigued silence that followed them through the city. Even with an Elven prince consort, Men of the Southern Kingdom were still not very well accustomed to the presence of the First Born in their midst. This awkward admiration had been borne of generations of legend and lore passed down from parents to children ever since the battle of the Last Alliance, the last time Men and Elves had stood together on the battlefield. After that time, Elves lived only in the stories Men told and therefore became the sometimes magical and sometimes fearful immortals of the First and Second Age of Middle-Earth.

Escorting them across the Fields was Faramir, Captain of the Guard. He was a tall, handsome man of good, strong build, roughened by the life of a horsemaster but better for it. His long, straight dark blonde hair was blowing in the wind behind him. He sat upright on his broad chestnut horse and cut a dashing figure that indeed looked the part of a seasoned Captain under command of his King. 

The Dúnadan noted the similar features and build of this Faramir and wondered if he bore familial bonds with one Boromir of Gondor, son of the last Steward to ‘reign’ over the Southern Kingdom before Elessar had claimed his birthright as rightful heir to the throne of Gondor and begun his reign only three years before. Boromir had spent quite a bit of time with the Rangers of the North on his errands for his father and the two were quite good friends.

“Are you acquainted with Boromir son of Denethor, my Captain?” the Ranger asked after a time in Westron, the common speech among Men.

Faramir chuckled and turned around in his saddle. “Aye that I am, for he is my elder brother. Know you of him well?” He glanced at the Elf riding closely at the Ranger’s side for a moment and then back to the Man. The Elf paid them no heed and continued taking in the surrounding environs.

“Aye, we have had many a time to visit over the years when he is on one journey or another and comes into the North where we Rangers preside when we are not called elsewhere. He is a good Man, I am glad to know his kin.”

“And I any friend of his. He always returns with the most wildly imaginative stories that sometimes make it hard for me to believe them all in truth, for he is fond of embellishing otherwise simple moments or events. I should like to hear your tales of his travels some time that I might learn if my brother is simply a better storyteller than most.”

“I should enjoy that greatly, for it would be very amusing to hear his side of things to learn what he favors over what he feels should have been,” the Ranger replied genially. Now he saw clearly the family resemblance both in physical resemblance and warmth of personality. He turned to his right to ask with his eyes how his beloved fared during their conversation and received a smile and a twinkling from the Elven eyes. 

The Captain and Ranger conversed jovially the rest of the way, already comparing stories that they wanted to hear about, the Captain having dropped back to the left side of the Ranger so that they could talk more easily. The Elf listened idly but did not participate. He often left his husband to speak with other Men without making him feel obligated to include him in their conversations. He found that he did not care very much for the seemingly random manner of discourse of which Men were so fond, and they often spoke in Westron, the Common Speech, which most Elves found disdainful at best and horrid at worst. The Ranger spoke Sindarin as well as he spoke his mother tongue, so he honored his husband by speaking in the Elven tongue most of the time, except for times of extreme anguish or excitement, when he would fall back into his native language to exclaim sorrow or joy. He spoke both to the child in the Elf’s womb so that he would be able to communicate with Men when needed later on and with his Elven kindred as well. 

They reached the tiered city a little while later and began the ascent to the palace at the top.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


	2. Old Friends Come A Calling

The next morning Legolas woke up feeling much better and did not even protest when Aragorn peeled back the covers to make sure he didn’t go back to sleep while the king got dressed. Aragorn had spent the whole previous day with him, trying to console his feelings of uselessness and loneliness but for the presence of their daughter in his womb. Usually Aragorn’s kingly duties separated them for at least a few hours a day if not more, so Legolas was fully appreciative of the little respite from his husband’s often busy schedule. 

Aragorn went down to the personal kitchen attached to their rooms to make breakfast for the two of them and then returned. Thoron came in later and they played for a while in the room for Legolas’ benefit. Then Arwen came by to collect Thoron for his daily riding lesson and the two were left for a time to discuss matters of state for which Aragorn wanted Legolas’ opinion. After lunch Aragorn left to attend to the matters they had discussed earlier and Legolas took a light nap. In a way he was pleased with the amount of control his body had over his mind in reference to when to sleep and when to eat because if left up to his mind, his Elven sensibilities would have deprived him of food and sleep long ago. He was just waking up from his nap when Aragorn came bustling through the doorway into the bedroom that was shaded from the afternoon sun by the drapes.

“Oh good, you’re awake. You have a visitor, Legolas, from the Golden Wood come to see you,” Aragorn said pleasantly, that brilliant smile of his in place. Legolas sat up straighter in the bed, trying to smooth down his night gown as much as possible over his protruding stomach. His silver-blonde hair fell in disarray over his shoulders, the noble braids falling down over his bare chest where the night gown was unclasped.

“A visitor? What are you talking about, Aragorn?”

“Two visitors, in fact. The other is a Ranger from Arnor, isn’t that interesting? And a Dúnadan at that! I haven’t seen any of my kin since the coronation and our wedding ceremony these three years. They are always kept so busy with matters elsewhere in Eriador…” Aragorn was walking back and forth from the bed to Legolas’ armoire while he talked, picking out tunics of different colors and styles, laying them on the bed and then going back to look some more. Legolas watched him with a peculiar look on his face. He thought that his husband seemed distracted by something that was also making him eager.

“I see. And why are you looking through my clothes, _meleth_? Have you finally decided to dress like an Elven king for once?” Legolas chuckled when Aragorn looked at him with a dubious glare. It was his wont to remind Aragorn of his Elven side whenever the opportunity arose, a long-running joke they had between them whenever the Elf felt that the Dúnadan was embracing his Human side too much.

“I am trying to find the tunics you wore at the end of your term with Thoron.”

“They are in the back, behind the ones for special occasions.”

“Ah, I see them,” came the echo from the back of the armoire. Aragorn replaced the others he had set out on the bed with a dark blue, silver-embroidered tunic that was altered in the front to accommodate the changed shape of the Elf’s torso. He laid it out with the matching leggings and boots and looked expectantly at his husband.

“Yes?”

Aragorn looked at Legolas with a look that brooked no argument as to his mood. He was in some sort of anxious state and didn’t seem to be receptive to Legolas’ searching questions that were wasting time.

“ _Meleth_ , please get up so I can help you get dressed. You do not want to keep our visitors waiting, do you?”

“But I am not to rise from this bed until the baby arrives, as mandated by _your_ healers, Aragorn. What would you have me do?” Legolas said, a tad grumpily.

“That was simply a precaution so that you did not endanger yourself or our daughter. You recall that we practically had to bar the door with you inside in the last few weeks before Thoron was born? You were so intent on going about your daily duties that I could not concentrate on _mine_ for fear that some harm would befall you.”

“You have yet to tell me why I should be allowed to leave this room now, Aragorn. Who are our visitors?” Then something occurred to the Elf. His features became drawn and a frown formed where his smile usually resided. “Has something befallen my father? Is he here? Is there—”

“Nay, calm yourself, _meleth_ , there is naught of a melancholy nature to the tidings these visitors bring. In fact, they tell me they bring tidings of joy from both your father and Lady Galadriel in the form of letters they carry with them.” Aragorn picked up the sapphire-blue tunic again and gently gestured with it to emphasize his request.

“Now, please, for the love of the Valar, get up so we can re-braid your hair and make you presentable as the most beautiful Elf prince in all of Middle-earth with your humble king at your side.”

Legolas blushed in the same way that Elves did everything: gracefully. He remarked at the ease with which Aragorn switched between his role as King and his role as husband. He never let one interfere with the other. Granted, his royal duties might keep him occupied much of the time and unable to spend all the time he desired with his husband, but he never abused his station as king to persuade Legolas to do something. The Elf was a prince in his own right and demanded the respect that came with such a position. He always came to him with requests and entreaties in which he could consider joining him. He had been that way from the very start, and Legolas respected him for it and loved him deeply because of it.

He rose and walked gingerly to the end of the great, canopied bed, his back and legs protesting this resumed mobility. Aragorn held the embroidered tunic against Legolas’ torso to gauge how it would look. Legolas leaned forward a few inches and softly kissed him on the lips.

“ _Hannon le_ , Estel,” he said, their lips still mere moments apart.

“For what, _melethron_?” Aragorn asked softly, running a thumb over his Elf’s porcelain cheek.

“For everything. For tolerating my foul moods, for enduring my un-ending spate of questions about your day when your duty calls you away. For talking to me for hours to make me forget that I have been behaving far below what is expected of and revered in Elf-kind.” Legolas opened his mouth as if to say more but then promptly closed it again and looked down morosely. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
Hannon le- thank you  
Estel- Aragorn’s Elven name  
Melethron- lover/beloved  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Aragorn stood gazing at his Elf in the same way he had that night long ago in the Willow Grove when Legolas had given him his heart and taken his own hostage, never to return it. Not that he wanted it back. His heart was Legolas’ to keep. He set the tunic down on the bed next to him.

“I could not love you more right now if I tried,” Aragorn began after a few moments of silence to gather his thoughts. He placed his hands on both sides of Legolas’ face, which had been downcast since he started speaking, and gently lifted it to look into those clear blue eyes.

“I know the sacrifices you have made to live here in Gondor with me, because I asked you to make them. I asked you to bless us with children that will be heirs to the reunited kingdoms of Men and Elves. I asked you, by way of bearing a child, to forego for a time the immortal surety with which you live your life. To experience something for which you could never have prepared yourself, and for which you would suffer great indignities so foreign to and disdained by your people. And you did them all without once trying to get me to reconsider or to compromise. You came to live in an unknown land, amongst people largely ignored by Elf-kind for being too crude and too easily manipulated by their own vices and desires, to be with me. It is I who should thank you, King of my heart.” 

Legolas tried to look away at the mention of the unfortunately accurate description of the way most Elves felt about the race of Men. He felt ashamed on Aragorn’s behalf for his people’s view of mortals. But Aragorn kept his grip steady and Legolas stared once more into those lovely grey-blue depths. “I know you of old, Legolas of Mirkwood, Prince of the Woodland Realm, and darling husband to me, a simple human destined to reunite the old kingdoms,” Aragorn paused to take a big breath for dramatic effect, “who is begging you desperately to don this tunic so we can please get your hair braided so we can go out and meet with the visitors who came to see us but who have probably since had their child and gone home to raise it, we have tarried here so long.”

Legolas looked blankly at Aragorn for a split second before throwing his head back, out of Aragorn’s hands, and laughed till he had to stop and catch his breath. Tinúviel giggled in his womb and Aragorn patted the place where he knew her head to be, grinning himself.

“Alright, simple human, help me out of this robe and we shall make ourselves presentable for our patient guests,” Legolas said with a smile, still chuckling at his love and their life.

They walked down the hall ten minutes later towards one of the sitting rooms where they received guests of honor. Legolas looked all a-glow in his tunic and leggings. He had braided his hair in his customary fashion after brushing it and it shown brilliantly in the warm light of the afternoon Sun. Aragorn was wearing one of his usual ensembles of a leather vest with linen shirt underneath and worn-hide leggings coupled by boots. When required by the need for decorum, he wore his royal clothes, but Aragorn tried to keep those occasions to a minimum most of the time so that he could dress comfortably in his old Ranger fashion.

When they reached the door, Legolas put a hand on Aragorn’s shoulder to still his movements.

“Wait a moment, _meleth_. Did not you say earlier that the visitors could have already had their child and returned to their own land to raise it?” Aragorn nodded. “Are not these visitors a Man and an Elf?” Aragorn smiled this time when he nodded his head and pulled open the doors. Legolas only had a few moments to contemplate this startling new information before their guests rose to their feet to greet the royal couple upon their entrance.

Legolas stopped in his tracks when he caught sight of who it was standing before him, looking to be maybe a month behind him at most in his term, a few weeks at the least. Aragorn had stopped with him, and quietly slid a hand around the Elf’s lower back in case he needed to steady him. He did not know this Elf, but it certainly appeared that Legolas did.

“Hephaestion?!?”


	3. Strange Tidings

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“ _Mae govannen_ , Legolas. I am so pleased to see you again,” the statuesque Elf said warmly, standing beside the shorter, broader Ranger.

“ _Suilad, mellon nin._ It gladdens my heart to see you after all this time,” Legolas replied.

The king was amused by the surprised look on his husband’s face. Legolas had not had very many occasions of late to be merry and this was a welcome change. He scooted his husband farther into the room to stand in front of the Ranger and Elf to make the proper introductions.

**********************  
Mae govannen ~ Well met  
mellon nin ~ my friend  
Suilaid ~ Greetings  
**********************

“Legolas, Hephaestion of Lothlórien. Hephaestion is one of the Lady’s younger kin and serves as ambassador to many other lands. But it would appear that an introduction is unnecessary,” he said with a sly smile at his husband. Legolas was still a little shocked- well, as much as would register on an Elven face, that is. One could only remark the difference in emotions displayed by an Elf after a long period of living amongst them. The Prince was smiling now, however, and presently turned to the Man standing comfortably at his old friend’s side.

Aragorn proceeded. “Legolas, Alexander of Arnor. Alexander is a Ranger of the North, and another one of the few remaining Dúnedain on Middle-Earth.”

Alexander bowed gracefully in front of Legolas. ‘So this is the great prince that my beloved has spoken of so highly,’ he thought to himself as he took in the sight of the beautiful Silvan Elf standing across from him. ‘Are all royal Elves even more enchanting than the rest of their kin?’ he mused. Alexander thought he felt something, a feeling of longing perhaps, tugging at his mind when he looked the prince in the eye, but he was distracted from his thoughts by a slight jab to his side from Hephaestion to jar him from staring at Legolas.

Alexander shook himself internally and spoke. “It is an honor to meet you, your highness. Hephaestion has told me so much about the great deeds you and he have accomplished over the centuries during our long journey here.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you as well,” Legolas said politely.

Alexander smiled in thanks and turned to face Aragorn. The look on his face changed completely from one of respect to one of conspiratorial glee more likely to be found ’round a campfire than a palace. “And you, Strider, it seems you have finally met your match. Your heritage finally catch up with you, did it?”

Aragorn was grinning like a fool, his hand still wrapped around Legolas’ lower back. He pulled him a little bit closer, eliciting a surprised gasp and worried look from his husband at such intimate actions in front of guests. 

“You are already acquainted with this Ranger, Elessar?” Legolas asked, using Aragorn’s formal name as befitted protocol. If only one of them was going to maintain it, then it would be the Elf. 

Aragorn seemed not to notice Legolas’ discomfort or the formality of his question. “Indeed, I am. You speak the truth, Alexander, I most certainly have.” He glanced at Hephaestion’s expectant state and then back to Alexander. “It would appear you have as well, my friend.”

Alexander’s whole face lit up. The two Elves just stood there, scandalized by this uncouth behavior in front of people they had only just met.

‘Men,’ they both said to each other exasperatedly through their deeply expressive eyes.

“Most assuredly so. I was like a hobbit who had just inherited an entire field of long-bottom leaf. I knew not what to do with myself when not in his presence.”

“Alexander…” Hephaestion interrupted softly, turning to look at his Ranger, a perturbed tone to his silky smooth voice. “Did you just compare me to a field of that awful weed that clouds Men’s minds and encourages them to behave like common hill-folk?”

Aragorn interjected before a lost-looking Alexander could open his mouth to try and rescind the supposed affront. “If you will forgive him, Hephaestion, I know he meant it as a compliment to your beauty and grace such that entrances us mere mortals until we are helpless in your presence.” Aragorn looked at Legolas as he finished. Legolas smiled, silently thanking Aragorn for smoothing over a compliment plain to Men’s ears, but lost upon Elven ones. Legolas winked at Hephaestion and the taller Elf relaxed.

Aragorn looked back at Alexander. “Come, let us forget formality and all its hidden snares, and retire to the dining room where we can eat the elegant dinner prepared for us. Alexander, we should let these two beautiful creatures get reacquainted with one another, and you and I can do so as well.”

Alexander let out the breath he hadn’t known he was holding. Strider had always been the smooth talker of the two of them, especially around the Fair Folk, and it appeared he was still ever the charmer. Alexander was better at expressing himself through his actions than through his words. And there was always the fact that his husband still made him as tongue-tied as he was the day he met Hephaestion. Elven love had that effect on some Humans. He turned to his husband with an apologetic look in his eyes. He leaned over to whisper in his ear, “ _Goheno nin, meleth_. We should find you a nice comfortable couch to lounge on while you visit with the prince.”

**********************  
goheno nin ~ forgive me  
**********************

Hephaestion acknowledged him and smiled at the concern ever evident in his mate’s voice when talking about his well-being. Alexander never let him stay on his feet for very long and hovered around him fretting like a mother hen.

Hephaestion sent Legolas a look as if to say ‘They may be Men, but we love them just the same, do we not?’

Legolas’ eyes twinkled in agreement as he walked into the dining room with Aragorn’s hand still around his waist.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Legolas lie in bed later that night, reading the letters Hephaestion had brought him. There was a letter from his father, King Thranduil, relating all that had transpired in the time since he had sent the last letter. Legolas loved receiving letters from home that told him how his family fared and anything else of importance, even though they made him homesick for his woodland realm. The melancholy was not of a persistent nature, fortunately, just the natural feeling of wanting to be close to his family even if over such a long distance.

The other letter was from the Lady of the Golden Wood. Legolas had been many a time to visit the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien. It was an Elven place out of time, reminiscent of the First Age long past, the golden age of Elves when Middle-Earth had been bathed in the un-tainted light of the Valar and the different races had lived in harmony with each other, or at least in companionable silence. A time before the re-awakening of the Dark Lord and his nefarious designs on their fair world.

Among those visits, sometime in the indeterminable length of Elven reckoning, Legolas had met Hephaestion, who was a few hundred years older than he. He had come to know the Silvan Elf on his visits to the Lady of the Wood on behalf of his father and later on for his own leisure. Friends they soon became, and friends ever had they remained. Legolas had not seen Hephaestion in a century or so, but that is comparable to but maybe a year’s absence in the reckoning of a Man and just slightly less in the reckoning of a Hobbit. 

Galadriel had written to him bearing tidings from Lórien and to inform Legolas of any omens she saw in her great mirror of water that might concern him or his husband’s mortal realm. Lothlórien could be found at the northern border of where the dark realm festered and it continued to be as ever watchful as it had been throughout the last Age of Middle-Earth.

Aragorn came into the bedroom a few minutes later after putting Thoron to bed. The young heir was at the age now where he believed himself to be wide awake at night and thus saw no need to be in bed at an early hour, but after Aragorn tucked him into his down-feather bed and regaled him with an old Ranger story, the half-elfling was off to sleep as soon as his father blew out the candles in his room.

“What story did you tell him tonight?”

“The same one I have told him for the past five nights,” Aragorn chuckled as he removed his clothes to put on his night robe. “It seems his horse-back riding lessons have given him a new fascination with all things equestrian and he wanted to hear about the Rohirrim and their horses. Again.”

Legolas smiled. “Well, I guess we know who should come down for a visit later on this year say, around Thoron’s birthday? I would presume that he would take great joy in meeting a real horse-master.”

“That is a wonderful idea, Legolas. I am sure King Éomer would be delighted to make such an impression on our little prince. I have not seen him in a coon’s age; it will be nice to catch up.”

Legolas’ eyebrows rose at the king’s odd Westron phrase, and then he shook his head smiling before returning to his letter. Aragorn got into bed and rested his head on Legolas’ chest under his right shoulder where he sat propped up against the headboard. The hair on Aragorn’s beard tickled his bare skin. Legolas waited until Aragorn stopped fidgeting with the covers and moving around before speaking. “Comfortable now, _meleth_?” he asked sweetly, wrapping his right arm around Aragorn’s back, his hand settling around the king’s waist.

“Mmhmm, very much so. Which letter are you reading?”

“My Lady’s letter.”

“And what tidings does she bring? Any news?”

“She informs me that there have been strange happenings to the South but as of her letter, she did not know if the nature of such would portend good or sinister things for Lórien and Gondor.” Immediately upon broaching this ever-delicate subject, Legolas realized he had seriously misjudged the time and place to be uttering such unnerving news. He felt Aragorn’s grip tighten where his right arm was wrapped around Legolas’ waist, his right leg entangled with his own, and the Man grew still at his side. The Elf berated himself silently for not judging first whether or not this was the best time to discuss such matters.

He started running his nimble fingers along the side of Aragorn’s hip under his robe in a comforting way, and then he deftly changed the subject.

“My Lady also writes that Haldir included his own missive to me, I glanced at it when I unfolded the bundle; it says he has something important to tell me. He also says _‘Suilaid’_ to you and Thoron and little Tinúviel..”

“Really? I was under the impression that Haldir was not overly impressed with me when we met after that night in the Grove. I think being the reason why you did not return that night or the next morning did not do much to endear me to him, for I had not known he was charged with looking after you in your melancholy state.”

Legolas stopped rubbing his fingers along his husband’s hip to look down at Aragorn’s face with a curious glance, but the king’s long brown locks obscured the regal features from view. “Of what do you speak, Aragorn? Haldir held no ill will towards you.” 

“Aye, but he did.” Aragorn turned to look at Legolas, who was imitating a Human in contemplation with his forefinger to his chin, his forehead creased in thought. 

“Although,” the Elf continued after a moment’s reflection, “he has never really revealed any sort of fondness for mortals of any kind, so I am sure that would have made it seem like you were less in his favor.”

“Precisely. His face may have been a mask of pleasant indifference but his eyes sparkled with the disapproval that such a mortal, even a Dúnadan and heir to the Human throne, should presume to love and be loved by a royal First Born.” Aragorn paused to take a good look at the Elf, who sat there expectantly, awaiting an explanation for this foreign observation of one of his closest Elven friends. 

“I think he was jealous,” Aragorn said with a smirk.

“Jealous? Jealous of whom?”

“Of me.”

“Why?”

“Because I had won the heart of his object of affection.” 

Aragorn looked pointedly at his husband, waiting for the information to strike meaning in his head. He was quite sure that Legolas had been too lost in his inner woe to notice the looks of longing and hopeless desire in his friend the March Warden of Lórien. Even Elves could not conceal every emotion from their beautifully placid faces. The true feelings of the heart always escaped through the eyes, the ‘windows to the soul’ as the ancient ones once said.

“Haldir held affection for me? Surely, you are mistaken, _meleth_. Haldir and I have known one another for half a millennium and I have never noticed anything, how can you say that when you met with him for all of a fortnight?”

“Sometimes the object of one’s affection is the least likely one to know of said affection if the admirer never declares his love publicly. Besides, the way he was around you and consequently around me told of a great many things that were buried beneath a veritable mountain of Elven pride and prejudice,” Aragorn continued, appropriating a look of smug satisfaction. “But I cared not, for I had won you once and for all and no Elf with a superiority complex and suppressed feelings for you was going to take you away from me.”

“Oh, is that so? You _won_ me, did you? How do you know it was not the opposite?” Legolas met his smug smile with mischievously gleaming eyes.

“Oh, I know it was not the opposite because there was a void in your heart and a damper on your spirit and I filled that void and lit the way for your spirit to find its way home- home to me. The March Warden did none of those things.”

Here Aragorn punctuated his words with a kiss to any part of Legolas’ body he could reach. “For if he had… then our paths might… never… have crossed… and that… _melethron_ … would have been… a fate… worse than death.”

The Man kissed the Elf passionately on the lips, having decided that the time for discussion could resume at a later juncture. Legolas was too aroused to question him further about this strange account of his old friend’s hidden feelings for him.

Legolas sighed into Aragorn’s mouth and the king breathed him into the deepest recesses of his soul, where he was content to stay for the rest of his days. The Elf reached up to wend his fingers around Aragorn’s hair and pull him closer. The papers he had been reading were forgotten and they floated down to the floor and scattered everywhere. One of the pages, however, slid down between the bedside table and the bed and was obscured from view.

It was the letter from Haldir. After the usual pleasantries, the letter began in earnest, “ _Mellon nin,_ I must tell you something of great importance regarding Elves in the expectant state and their mates. This will be even more imperative once your guests have arrived…”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


	4. Cravings of a Different Sort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oopsies, sorry about the delay in posting. RL called and suddenly a month had passed by since I posted the last chapter. Funny how that happens sometimes. Hope you enjoy ^^

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Aided by the soft, warm hue of early morning sunlight that diffused through the vaulted ceiling sky-lights of the private kitchen in the royal chambers, Alexander found his way over to the grand carved-mahogany serving table where fresh fruits, bread, cream and cheese, honey, goat’s milk, and more were laid out in preparation for the day’s meals. He had expected to be alone at this early hour of the day when it was not quite dawn but no longer night. But there sitting on one of the many wooden stools spread around the table was Strider, carefully selecting the best strawberries to go with the snow-white cream he had already spooned into a small chalice. 

Alexander would not have given more than a moment’s notice to this choice of food had it not been for the pickled cucumbers that Strider was placing in and around the bowl of strawberries and even dropping some directly into the chalice of cream. A kitchen knife lay beside him, juice from the cucumber staining the cutting board. He wore his night robe, tied around the waist but lying open haphazardly across his shoulders; his tousled hair and the peaceful look on his face led Alexander to wager that his hair was not tousled by sleep, but by a certain, much more enjoyable activity. ‘But,’ the visiting Dúnadan thought to his self with a wry grin, ‘it is not as if I probably do not have the same look about me.’ 

Strider looked up when he heard the shuffling of mortal feet. He knew it was Alexander before he raised his head because Elves do not shuffle, they glide, and because the servants had not yet risen for the day.

“Good morning, Strider. Experimenting with our food today, are we?” Alexander greeted him when he reached the table. He grinned at Strider in a knowing way because he knew the reason for Strider’s odd food combination.

Strider smiled back and chuckled before replying, “Good morning, Alexander. Nay, fortunately for me it is not I who is experimenting. I am but the humble servant, gathering the desired foods that my beloved craves…at the crack of dawn,” he finished saying with a sigh and a roll of his mist-grey eyes. 

Alexander laughed at his friend’s expression and pulled a stool out from under the large table. He sat down and placed a hand on Strider’s shoulder in sympathy. “Ahhh, _mellon_ , then we have both come here on the same mission. Except that my beloved desires cheese covered in honey with fresh-ground pepper sprinkled on top.”

Both Dúnedain cringed at Hephaestion’s request and then laughed. They looked at each other and just as Hephaestion and Legolas had done the night before, shook their heads, and muttered out loud, “Elves.” 

“Please tell me, Strider, that these abominated food cravings will end soon. I am not sure my stomach can endure much more of this. Phai practically attacks his food when he gets these cravings, much like a Wild Man would, in a most un-Elf-like manner, and they are always at the rarest of hours, too. When we were out in the woods during our journey here, I would be sent out to find some rare mushroom or edible flower root in the middle of the night. He would not entertain any company of the sort until I had recovered my bounty but the next morning he would be as welcoming as if we were home in Lórien and he had not just sent me out on a wild Orc chase.” 

Strider snickered at that comment. “At least here,” Alexander continued, “I don’t have to go digging around in the dark night when there is a kitchen here to which I can be sent,” he finished sardonically. 

The king chuckled to himself internally for he did not want to distress the Man further by making him think he was laughing at him. He was most assuredly commiserating with him. Legolas had sent him out on many a search during his first time with child for the oddest, most undesirable items that he could ever have imagined and this second time was no exception.

He did smile at Alexander’s forlorn and pleading face and reassured him that it would soon end. “Once they are within a month of the end of their term, their cravings recede and they start returning to their Elven sensibilities in more ways than one. The oddly curious fact is that Legolas never seemed to notice what undesirable food choices he was making when he was carrying Thoron. He acted like it would be physically painful for him not to eat these particular foods so I never ventured to ask why he would choose to put something so sweet with something so pungent, for I might never be invited back into his arms again.” 

Alexander laughed at that, for it was all too true. “Aye, neither have I. Phai gets this look on his face like he will actually go into distress if I do not _want_ to gather this food for him. I took that as a sign to leave well enough alone and patiently wait for the day when he sleeps till dawn and if he wakes up in the middle of the night that it’s for a better reason than asking me to go fetch something acrid for him to eat.”

“Indeed, I have seen that look in my Legolas’ eyes as well,” Strider added with a wink as he placed the last few pickled cucumber slices in the bowl. He rose from the stool with tray in hand, and started making his way back to his waiting husband when Alexander asked him one more question.

“Strider, when he was carrying Thoron, did the Prince ever feel oddly after an evening spent in conversation and relaxation with friends? That was not connected to the intermittent sickness that accompanies being with child?”

Strider turned around and looked at Alexander, whose face was suddenly a mask of seriousness and unease. “What do you mean, _mellon_? Is the fair Hephaestion unwell since last night?”

Alexander looked down at his hands and noticed the tablecloth being twisted in them for the first time. He hadn’t remembered picking the edge of it up and absently tried to smooth out the wrinkles as he responded, his eyes searching Strider’s for understanding. “Uh, no, he is not unwell, but he was not exactly himself, either. Because he is not used to the aches and pains by which we mortals live and die, all new discomforts are strange for him and he tells me so whenever he feels uneasy, that I might bring him comfort.” 

Strider returned to the table and set down his tray. He stood in front of his companion and now it was he who placed a hand on Alexander’s shoulder in a show of support.

“And you believe this feeling of uneasiness was brought on by our evening together? Did he eat something that perhaps did not agree with him?”

“No, he told me he ate nothing that Prince Legolas did not eat. I trust that the Prince fared well afterward?”

Aragorn was about to agree as he recalled the blissfully naked Elf he had just left waiting in their bed but a thought made him pause. Legolas had not mentioned any feelings of unease after their pleasant evening of reminiscing but he had said that he was feeling a little drained, like he had expended more energy than he had been aware of, and that it did not come on gradually but presented itself rather abruptly, right before they adjourned for the night. 

“Aye, he did, only mentioning that he felt more tired than he had expected. I thought nothing of it at the time because that was a lot of excitement in one evening for someone who had been resigned to a bed the last few weeks, with nary an outside visitor save me, our son, or the occasional visit from my sister, Arwen.”

The four of them had gathered in the drawing room after dinner to lounge more comfortably while they conversed with one another and Aragorn had spent a delightful hour or so learning all about Hephaestion’s days spent traveling with Legolas before Aragorn was ever born.

“Hephaestion looked well throughout most of our conversation, but it was a look of weariness on his face after a time that made me think we should adjourn for the night.”

Alexander nodded in understanding. “And it was well that you did, for I had noticed that Legolas had started sinking further and further into his chaise and I had assumed the more active role in the conversation.” Here Alexander stopped and placed one of his own hands on top of the one still resting on his shoulder. Strider, who had been looking down at the table in concentration, looked back up to stare into Alexander’s earnest brown eyes.

“I would not tell you of this matter, Aragorn—” 

The king realized the true seriousness of the moment when he was addressed so, because Alexander always called him Strider, or Elessar when in public, but hardly ever his given name. 

“—if it did not worry me so. And what is more…”  
`  
“What is it, Alexander?”

A guilty look passed over the other Man’s face as he struggled for words. “I felt… I felt drawn to Prince Legolas from the, um, from the moment you introduced us.” 

At a strange look from Strider he hurried on to clarify what he was trying to say. 

“What I mean to say is, I felt some sort of odd pull towards him, like his aura was reaching out to me but it was gone in the blink of a Wizard’s eye…” he trailed off, now afraid to meet his friend’s eyes. 

When he felt Strider’s hand slip from his shoulder he automatically tensed up, anticipating the blow he felt sure was to come. Only the silence and stillness of the next few seconds made him look up, curious as to why he wasn’t now sporting a shiner for telling the King of Gondor that he had felt attracted to the Prince Consort, and an expectant one at that.

What he saw in Strider’s face shocked him. Those impossibly grey-blue eyes were staring back at him in wonderment and in a single moment, Alexander knew their friendship had not been lost.

“So you felt it, too, when you met Hephaestion?”

“…Aye, I did. But what does that mean?”

“By the light of the Valar I do not know…”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


	5. An Unseen Force

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slips in to post chapter before March is over* Oh hai guyz... ^^ and hey, lookit that, this chappie's a lot longer, too! \o/
> 
> Thanks for leaving me comments and kudos as I post this fic (albeit slowly ahahaha...), they are ♥ 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Ze plot, it is beginning to thicken, n'est pas? ;)

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Quietly, Aragorn carried the silver tray laden with his beloved’s food into the bed chamber and set it down on the bedside night table. When he turned towards the bed, however, he was greeted with one of the sweetest sights his eyes had ever beheld: his brave warrior prince had fallen asleep waiting for his impromptu meal and looked all tuckered out, which was quite a feat for an Elf, but then the expectant state of Elves did alter many of their ethereal qualities into mortal ones for the time they spent creating new life inside their bodies.

‘There are also a few more devious and completely delightful reasons why Legolas fell asleep in pursuit of his wild cravings,’ he thought with a wicked smirk.

The king left the cream and strawberries mixed with pickled cucumbers on the tray, quickly disrobed, and carefully climbed into bed beside his husband who immediately nestled up to his side in his sleep. Aragorn tucked the covers around Legolas’ shoulders where he could reach and settled down to succumb to his own peaceful slumber. 

~*~

Alexander, however, was not spared from having to watch his own beloved devour the strange foods he had been commissioned to retrieve. When he returned to their rooms, Hephaestion was a mess of down comforter, sheets, and pillows, all strewn about in his reckless tossing and turning on the bed, waiting impatiently for the food to satiate his craving. 

“My darling Phai, what have the sheets done to incur your wrath upon them, eh?” Alexander chuckled as he offered the silver tray to his lover, who had propped himself up against a few pillows. 

Hephaestion’s beautiful long brown hair had become unruly and hung haphazardly in front of and around his flushed face. He had a petulant look about him and Alexander could almost swear he saw the Elf’s bottom lip sticking out as if he were pouting. Definitely not an Elf-like thing to do. 

“I was growing restless awaiting your return and I became uncomfortable in my present position so I tried to maneuver myself into a more comfortable one but I became entangled in the sheets as they would not yield to me. Did you bring what I asked for?” He was already reaching for the fork that lay on the tray beside the plate piled with cheese, honey, and pepper sprinkles. 

“I did indeed, and the Moon and Stars if you had requested them as well.” He walked over to his side of the bed and picked up the discarded comforter to replace on the bed before he slipped in, his robe hanging loosely about him, stretching the sheet out again as he went. He sat up straighter against the headboard than Hephaestion and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him against his chest while the Elf hungrily consumed the strange mixture.

“What took you so long?” Hephaestion asked in between mouthfuls of honey-covered cheese. 

Alexander caught Hephaestion’s left hand on its way back to the plate and brought it up to his lips, sucking one of the fingers into his mouth to clean off the sweet honey. Hephaestion giggled as Alexander’s tongue tickled the sensitive pads of his fingers.

When Alexander finished cleaning those sticky fingers, he replied at length with a twinkle in his eye, “You’ll never guess who else was rummaging around in the kitchen looking for food.”

Hephaestion merely grinned. “What did Legolas desire to satisfy his hunger?”

“A chalice of cream mixed with strawberries and of all things pickled cucumbers,” Alexander cringed as he relayed the unwelcome-sounding plate at the same time that Hephaestion nodded his head in seeming approval, which only made Alexander chuckle. ‘Only someone in a similar state could see the merit in that,’ he thought lightheartedly to himself.

“Strider looked ravaged.”

“Ahh, then Legolas is taking proper care of his king, I see.”

“Alas, I on the other hand looked as clean as an Elf, not a disheveled piece of clothing or hair out of place to be found,” Alexander teased and got the desired reaction when Hephaestion smacked him on the thigh in jest.

“I think you are quite mistaken, my Alexander, for these bed sheets did not crumple themselves up entirely of their own accord before you left our bed in search of food.”

“Is that so? Well, I should be heartened to see that they stay in such disarray or I might find myself in such a state of melancholy as would worry the most dedicated healer,” Alexander feigned a sigh as if this were to be his fate, waiting for Hephaestion to reply.

Hephaestion lifted his head to look into Alexander’s rich dark eyes, his own blue orbs glowing in the dim, early-morning light. He did not say anything but instead looked back down to his plate where drizzles of honey had been left behind. He pulled one finger through a pool of the sweet, sticky substance and lifted it up above Alexander’s bare, taut stomach before letting it drip onto the bronzed skin.

Before Alexander could open his mouth to inquire as to what his lover was doing, Hephaestion leaned over and licked up the honey with slow, sensuous strokes of his tongue, raising goosebumps from the sensation that his warm breath left on the wet skin in the wake of his tongue. Alexander leaned his head back against the headboard and let out what sounded to Hephaestion like a groan of relief and a moan of anticipation mixed together.

“Do you see now why I wanted a little extra honey for my meal?” Hephaestion asked mischievously, looking up at Alexander from under his lashes.

“Well if I had known that—*gasp*—that that’s what you wanted it for, I would have…would have returned… sooner,” Alexander attempted to string words together to make a coherent sentence but there was a very warm hand traveling down his stomach, barely touching the skin and lighting the little hairs afire. He closed his eyes again with a hiss when the hand slipped beneath his robe and warmth suddenly enveloped his shaft. 

Hephaestion just chuckled and started stroking Alexander under his robe. Hephaestion had been semi-hard ever since Alexander had licked one of his hands clean but he ignored his needs for the moment and focused on bringing pleasure to his caring husband. He knew this pregnancy had been hard on his Ranger and this was the best way he knew how to make up for it. And Alexander’s hips thrusting gently up into his hand was a clear indicator that he agreed, even if he didn’t know the reason behind this treat.

They hadn’t been able to make love for the last month or so because Hephaestion was drawing near the end of his term and was too sore and sensitive, so Alexander had been deprived of their closest method of bonding as well. Hephaestion resolved to give Alexander as much pleasure as he could until after the baby was born, at which time he could love his husband properly and excessively.

“I think it’s time we got ready for bed, don’t you, my Alexander?”

“Uh-huh,” was the only reply he heard, not that he expected a more eloquent one. Hephaestion made quick work of removing Alexander’s robe, tossing it carelessly over his head, set the tray on the night table, pulled the comforter down, and, divesting himself of his own robe, he scooted between the sheets revealing his large swollen belly in all its glory. 

Alexander opened his eyes at the touch of skin on skin and moved his hands automatically down to the place where their son was growing inside Hephaestion’s body. 

Hephaestion lay still for a few moments while they relished the sweet moment and then he took hold of Alexander once more and begin rubbing his hand up and down the shaft in a soothing motion. Alexander’s hands dropped from his mate’s body and onto the surface of the bed where he gripped the sheets as the passion inside him began to rise.

Hephaestion steadily increased the friction and the frequency of his strokes and enjoyed watching his lover succumb to the throes of ecstasy. He lifted his other hand up to Alexander’s neck and pulled the Ranger towards him to claim his lips in a passionate kiss.

Alexander almost forgot how to breathe after a while from the onslaught of Hephaestion’s expert hand and devious lips. He knew he wasn’t going to last long; he had been harboring too much pent-up sexual tension lately and this feeling that he experienced every time his Hephaestion loved him in this way was always too much for him to handle for any length of time. Paradoxically, ever since his first time as a younger ranger, finding ecstasy with Hephaestion had always led him to ponder his own mortality, especially with regards to the eternal existence of the First Born lying at his side, so these moments were always a mixture of heady pleasure and a touch of melancholy.

Hephaestion released the lower lip he had been nibbling on and began working his way down his husband’s neck while maintaining a strong grip on Alexander’s member. Suddenly he felt Alexander’s whole body go tense and he knew he was about to find his release.

“Come for me,” Hephaestion whispered in a low, sultry voice in Alexander’s ear and a few seconds later he was rewarded with the shuddering release of Alexander’s seed all over his hand. Hephaestion sat up as Alexander tried to get the room to stop spinning. His eyes widened in amused surprise at the sight of Hephaestion licking his hand clean, slowly and sensually just as Alexander had done with the honey on his other hand.

“And now you have two clean hands,” Alexander’s voice rasped as he spoke and he tried to clear his throat. Hephaestion smiled that rare Elven smile meant only for their bonded mates and promptly moved closer again so that he could cuddle up into Alexander’s still softly shaking embrace and relax.

“ _Le melon_ , my Hephaestion,” Alexander whispered as he fell into a peaceful slumber.

He had almost completely fallen asleep before he heard his lover whisper into his chest, “ _Le melon_ , my Alexander.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
Le melon ~ I love you  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Later that afternoon, Aragorn sat in one of the drawing rooms of the royal suite, pouring over maps and trying to make sense of field data brought to him from Captain Faramir during his most recent trip to the Mark where the Rohirrim guarded the land bordering Gondor and Rohan. 

Legolas was trying not to be a nuisance – and failing miserably – as he continued to pester his husband to come take a walk with him in the garden.

“But is it not such a pleasant day out, Estel? We slept so late that we missed entirely the morning coolness but now I should like to warm my face in the afternoon sun. Come to the garden with me and listen to the conversations of the birds, I can almost hear them from here,” he said with a faint smile on his lips.

Aragorn just sighed and closed his eyes for a moment before replying, again, that he wished he could with all his heart but would not be able to because he had important affairs of state to attend to that could not be delayed right now. 

Legolas slumped back against the settee and crossed his arms over his swollen belly, his lower lip thrust out in frustration at being dismissed.

Aragorn was starting to feel more and more guilty about ignoring Legolas’ request to go outside now that he was not confined to their bedchamber, when he was saved by the entrance of Alexander, who walked into the room all dressed for the day. 

“Ah, good afternoon, Alexander. Sleep well I trust?” Aragorn asked.

“Good afternoon, Strider. Your highness,” Alexander nodded to Legolas before continuing, “I did indeed. Hephaestion is still sleeping in fact; we went to sleep rather late, so I am letting him recuperate. In the meantime, I thought a walk in the garden would be a nice way to enjoy the early afternoon sun.”

Legolas’ pointy ears immediately perked up at this unexpected exclamation and he looked silently in askance at Aragorn, who was only too happy to smile broadly and oblige his love. 

Alexander caught this interaction between the two monarchs but didn’t know what to make of it. Aragorn turned to see the amused confusion on his friend’s face and said, “It seems you have arrived at precisely the right moment, for the Dear One here would love nothing more than to take a turn in the garden with you if you would offer him your brilliant company for a little while as I must remain here to attend to a few affairs of state.”

Alexander smiled and turned to the eagerly awaiting Elf Prince, bowing gracefully before saying, “it would be my pleasure to accompany you to the gardens, your highness; I have heard much about your love of flora from Hephaestion and would like to hear about the great mallorns that grow in your homeland.”

Legolas smiled brightly and rose gingerly from his place on the settee with a little help from Aragorn. “Well, then I would be delighted to tell you anything you would like to know. And please call me Legolas, a great friend of Estel’s should be exempt from formalities with the rest of his family as well.”

“As you wish… speaking of your family, where is your son Thoron? I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting the young heir,” Alexander asked as he started to lead Legolas out the door of the study.

“Take your shawl, meleth!” Aragorn yelled over his shoulder as he resumed his work once more. He knew he sounded like a Hobbit mother but there were certain things about his husband’s well-being while he was expecting to which the king would not concede and catching a chill was one of them. 

“Yes, your *Majesty*…” came the sarcastic reply as the Elf and Ranger made their way outside, shawl draped across Legolas’ shoulders.

Aragorn could hear Legolas telling Alexander that Thoron was getting his daily riding lesson with his Auntie Arwen as their voices faded away down the hallway. He turned his attention back to the task at hand, grateful for the time alone to work in peace and that his husband was able to enjoy an afternoon in his favorite place in the entire palace: amongst Nature.

~*~

With no more interruptions, the king was just finishing up his correspondence 20 minutes later detailing a plan to provide his Guard with a more sophisticated messenger service when he heard a knock at the door.

“Enter.”

Hephaestion walked in clad in a simple grey tunic and a brown shawl of his own, still absently rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Aragorn turned around to greet his guest. “Well good afternoon, Hephaestion, it seems you have had the best sleep of all of us, it is half-way to sundown.”

Hephaestion blushed slightly at having selfishly slept in but he had been so worn out from the late night before and Alexander had made the bed so incredibly warm and cozy that he had not resisted when his husband had bid him sleep as long as he liked.

“Yes, thank you, I am quite well-rested. Where are the others?” he asked, taking in for the first time that both his husband and Aragorn’s were missing from the room.

“They have gone for a walk in the gardens. And you do not know how relieved I am that your husband walked in when he did. My poor Legolas was about ready to drag me outside himself but, alas, I could not join him because of the work that needed to be done here.”

“Well, I do not want to be one to…” Hephaestion said as he began to back out of the room, only to be stopped by an upheld hand and a quick word from Aragorn.

“Nay, please stay. I have finished all the correspondence that needs to be dealt with today, you need not worry about it.”

Hephaestion smiled in return and took a seat on the same settee that Legolas had vacated earlier. Aragorn came to sit down in an adjacent chair and picked up a cracker from the tray on the glass table at their feet. He sliced a piece of cheese to place on top, and offered one to Hephaestion.

“Oh, yes, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The two sat around conversing for the next 10 minutes or so getting better acquainted with each other. Hephaestion told Aragorn about life in Lórien where the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn resided and watched over the land around them. He asked Aragorn questions about his life growing up in Imladris and what it was like to have a father figure such as Lord Elrond to look after him. After a time, Aragorn inquired as to how Hephaestion and Alexander had met.

“Well, it actually happened along similar lines to that of the tale Legolas told me the other night when we were gathered by the fire in the library, of how the two of you met. Except that I was the one being watched from afar by Alexander for a few days and nights. The amusing part is that he thought he was being stealthy, and had I been but a mere mortal, he would have succeeded in his guile, but I had been aware of his every hiding place for days. I, however, did not give up the pretense of being unaware of his presence because in truth he had intrigued me and I wanted to see what he would do next.”

“Let me guess,” Aragorn said with a knowing smile when Hephaestion paused in his story, “Alexander thought he was just sooo stealthy that he could hide from an Elf while following him through the forest that he became too cocky and inadvertently revealed himself, much to his chagrin?”

Hephaestion chuckled at Aragorn’s remarkably accurate estimation of how the two lovers finally did meet. “You know your friend well indeed, Majesty. The next day he followed me down towards the River Celebrant and in taking a respite he walked down to the river’s bank to bathe. This turned out to be my undoing, I am afraid,” Hephaestion said quietly, his eyes downcast and his cheeks a soft rose color, a little embarrassed to be telling Aragorn this tale.

Aragorn saw his discomfort and leaned forward to place a soothing hand on the Elf’s shoulder to show he had nothing to worry about. “Please, continue.” The Elf raised his head and smiled in thanks for the support, and Aragorn removed his hand and made another cracker with cheese for himself, then sat back to listen.

“Well, I thought that I should avail myself of a little time to watch the Ranger, as I at least knew him to be from his dress and style of stalking through the forest, instead of the other way around as it had been. So I climbed into a tree near the bank and watched as I pondered why this Man intrigued me so when I had had no prior inclination to be watchful of the ways of the descendents from Númenor in the past.” Here, Hephaestion paused for a moment before continuing with a wry smile that was reflected in the twinkle of his startlingly blue eyes. “I had also not considered the fact that the Man would actually take all his clothes off to wade into the River.”

To this Aragorn let out a sharp laugh and shook his head. “That is Alexander for you. No inhibitions on that one.”

“You are quite right. But that was just a glancing shot. He was causing such a commotion washing his clothes in the water and whistling some foreign tune that anyone walking nearby would have heard and come hither to explore, not to mention how far away an Elf such as myself could have been and still have heard him. So I decided to end our game of cat and mouse and walked down to the shore and sat on a rock near his other belongings and waited for him to notice me.”

Aragorn waited for Hephaestion to continue while he adorned another cracker with slices of the different cheeses laid out on the spread, but lifted his head in curiosity when the Elf did not resume his tale. A panic spread through Aragorn’s stomach at the sight of the statuesque Elf hunched over himself clutching his stomach making no sound and trying not to move, like a deer caught in a wolf’s sights who thinks that if he does not move the danger will pass. Aragorn abandoned the cracker and cheese and let them fall where they may as he fell to his knees beside the settee and carefully leaned towards the cringing Elf.

He said in a soft soothing voice, “Hephaestion, are you and the baby alright?” He assumed this to be a pain associated with his expectant state from the way he was clutching his stomach as if to protect it from some unseen malevolent force. No answer from Hephaestion caused Aragorn to try again, this time very cautiously reaching out a hand to place on the Elf’s knee to establish contact and hopefully bring him back into the room from whence he had fled.

Hephaestion’s head shot up abruptly at the touch, his beautiful and soulful eyes reflecting the anguish the rest of his body was experiencing. 

“Are you alright?” Aragorn said once more, quietly and slowly.

Hephaestion seemed not to hear him for a moment although he was staring straight at him, and then slowly he nodded his head and whispered, “Yes.”

Aragorn placed one hand on the edge of the glass table to lift himself up and perch on the edge of the settee so he could better look at his husband’s long-time friend. He waited for the Elf to compose himself, which seemed to happen quickly enough, and then he ventured a question in a calming voice.

“Did you have a pain in your stomach? Was the baby kicking around too much?”

Hephaestion looked down at his lap and rubbed his hands around his swollen belly reverently and whispered, “No, I know not what that was. But it hurt.”

Aragorn was really worried now. He wished Legolas were here because he would be able to ask Hephaestion the right questions and know what he was feeling. Aragorn felt so helpless being unable to offer anything more than his support as a concerned friend.

“Is it gone now?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Shall I send for the healer?” Aragorn inquired in a quiet tone, ready to get up and send for the palace healer that had delivered their son and would be there to deliver their daughter.

Hephaestion shook his head and sighed as if he were exhausted. Maybe he was. He certainly did not look like the ever-radiant First Born he had been a few minutes ago. He looked tired and weary, and Aragorn could see tiny beads of sweat forming on his brow. Since Elves did not sweat, this was concern enough for him to want to seek out the healer’s opinion on the matter but the Elf looked up at the king and said, “No, thank you, Aragorn… all I desire is to see my husband at this moment.”

Aragorn was already walking towards the door to send for Alexander by the time Hephaestion said the word ‘husband’. 

After a word with a servant out in the hall, Aragorn came back into the room and shut the doors. He walked over to Hephaestion and took his place once more in his chair adjacent to the Elf.

“He will be here momentarily,” he said comfortingly.

Hephaestion laid his head against the cushion at his back and closed his eyes. “Thank you,” is all he said. To Aragorn he looked as if he were still trying to stay as still as possible to maybe ward off being attacked by this unseen force once more.

The door to the drawing room burst open then and Alexander came rushing in. He didn’t break his stride until he had reached Hepahaestion’s side where he sank down to the couch and pulled his frightened husband into his arms. 

Hephaestion seemed to just mold to the shape of Alexander’s body and hid his face in the crook of the Ranger’s neck. Alexander started rubbing his back in little soothing circles as he looked up at Aragorn and said quickly, “Your husband beckons you. I was on my way here to get you when the servant intercepted me.” Alexander pointedly looked down at the top of Hephaestion’s head and then back at Aragorn to tell him with his eyes that Legolas needed to see him because he, too, was in distress. Aragorn didn’t need to be told twice and was off at a run out the drawing room door and down the hallway out to the garden in search of his melethron.

Once they were alone, Alexander kissed the top of Hephaestion’s head and asked quietly, “What ails you, _Gûren_?” 

Hephaestion just shook his head in reply. He was clinging to Alexander’s tunic like a shield. Alexander brought the hand that wasn’t rubbing circles on his back up to the crown of Hephaestion’s head and began running his fingers through the silky strands and around the lover’s knots. He knew how much that action relaxed his Elf, how tender and intimate it was, and just sat there content to wait until whatever it was left his husband and their child alone.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
Gûren- My Heart  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Aragorn burst around the last corridor that led out to the gardens and saw his beloved Legolas lying on the grass with his hands protectively placed over his stomach, his eyes closed in concentration as though he were trying to dispel the pain through thought alone. Aragorn rushed up to him and fell to the grass next to the Elf’s head and whispered as he reached out to touch him, “Legolas, meleth, what troubles you?”

Legolas turned into the touch of Aragorn’s hand cupping his face but did not open his eyes. Aragorn was far too worried about his husband to remain patient any longer. “Legolas, please look at me.”

The Elf finally opened his eyes and Aragorn saw the earth-brown eyes filled with looks of fear, confusion, and worry. Aragorn bent down and gathered Legolas into his arms to embrace him tenderly. Legolas wrapped his arms around Aragorn’s neck and gave a huge sigh. 

“What happened _A’mael_?” Aragorn said softly next to Legolas’ ear as he hugged him close.

Legolas whispered as his whole body shivered, “The baby, Estel. Something tried to hurt the baby…”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
A’mael- Beloved  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


	6. Curiouser and Curiouser

~*~

Legolas and Hephaestion were both currently resting in Legolas’ bed after recovering earlier in their respective bedchambers while Aragorn and Alexander paced around the antechamber to the royal suite. They were within hearing distance of the bedroom in case any distress should befall the Elves, but far enough away that they could discuss what was transpiring without disturbing them.

It was now well after nightfall and the two Silvan Elves had only just recently succumbed to sleep even though they were exhausted from their traumatic experiences earlier that day. Neither had permitted their husbands to leave their sides until both had fallen asleep, wrapped up in the safe haven of their mates’ embraces.

“I’m worried, Strider.”

“Aye, so am I,” Aragorn stopped pacing when something occurred to him. “Do you think this has anything to do with what we talked about last night in the kitchen?”

Alexander looked at him strangely until he remembered the little confession he had made to Strider about feeling that intense split-second pull from the Prince when they met. His brow furrowed in thought as he put a finger to his lips.

“But what does that mean?”

“I do not know.”

“Everything was going splendidly, we were taking a turn in the garden, and Legolas was pointing out all of the different types of flowers and listening to the conversations of the birds, which I have no doubt he understood quite well…”

Aragorn’s lips twitched into a little smile, knowing that Legolas did indeed understand the birds and Aragorn had at one time wondered if all Elves possessed that trait or if it was a gift of the Valar bestowed upon his lover. 

“…and in the next moment he was holding his stomach with one hand and had an iron grip on my arm with the other, his eyes closed in pain and his breath sharp and shallow. That was when he asked me to fetch you.”

“Aye, that was just the same time that I sent someone out to fetch you at Hephaestion’s behest. Is it not odd that they fell ill in the same instant?”

“It is. I’m afraid it may have something to do with what we talked about, although today I don’t recall having any of those strong sensations of attraction. I felt a warm connection to him but I attributed that to our getting to know each other better.”

“Yes, I felt a similar warmth when sitting with Hephaestion this afternoon that I ascribed to our engaging conversation about the way the two of you met—” Aragorn didn’t get to finish his sentence because a lithe little creature had just glommed onto Aragorn’s leg and was giggling into his legging. 

“Well, hello my son, are we finished with our riding lesson for the day?”

Thoron nodded his bushy little head in the affirmative and looked up at his father’s face, still giggling quietly like he was playing a secret game that the grown-ups didn’t know about.

“It would seem you’ve gained an extra appendage, Strider. And who might this little Hobbit be?” Alexander knelt down in front of Thoron to extend his hand but the child, just now seeming to notice the other adult, scurried around to hide behind Aragorn’s legs, peeking through them at the strange Man. 

Alexander smiled at the child’s shyness, which he had fully expected of one his age, and dropped his hand back to rest on his knees where he remained partially seated on the ground.

“My name is Alexander. What’s yours, _ernilen_?”

Thoron merely gripped his father’s legs tighter but when Aragorn tousled his son’s hair, the boy looked up at his father. “What do we say when meeting new people?” Aragorn asked patiently.

Thoron peeked around the edge of Aragorn’s right leg, saying with careful measure like he was remembering something he had been taught only recently, “My name is Thoron. It’s a preashurr to meetcho.”

Alexander grinned and replied, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, _ernilen_ ,” but before he could say anything else, Thoron gave one last look at his father and then skittered into the bedchamber before Aragorn could tell him that Legolas was still sleeping, and was not alone either.

Alexander stood up and patted Strider on the shoulder in the fashion of old friends. “He looks the spitting image of you, Strider, with Legolas’ lithe build. He will no doubt grow to be a strapping young lad.”

Aragorn grinned in prideful response.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
Ernilen- Prince  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Thoron pushed his way under the covers at the foot of the bed and tunneled his way to the headboard where he poked his little head out next to a sleeping Legolas and started tapping his shoulder as only small children know how: incessantly.

“Are you awake, Ada? Are you awake? C’mon Ada, wake up, why you shleeping now? Is not you bedtime yet. You not going to tuck me in? Is you turn, papa say so lass night…”

Legolas was jarred from a light reverie by a strange object tapping incessantly at his shoulder and a little voice calling to him. Ah, it was his little bundle of joy. ‘Wait,’ he thought as he pulled himself back to the living realm, ‘why was I asleep?’

Legolas opened his eyes to behold Thoron peeking out from the covers, now with a grin on his cherubic face that his ada was finally awake. Over Thoron’s head Legolas saw a mass of golden brown hair laid out on the pillow, the face turned from view. ‘Wait a moment, Aragorn has shoulder-length wavy hair. This mane is long and straight and there are lover’s knots woven into the braids…. Oh, it must be Hephaestion. But what is Hephaestion doing in our bed, and where is Aragorn?’

“Ada! You awake. There is a stwange man in the hallway tawking to papa wears same clothes as papa, too.”

“Yes, Gûren. That is papa’s friend Alexander.”

Leglas lifted a hand to caress his son’s head and run his fingers through the unruly hair. ‘He definitely got his papa’s hair,’ Legolas thought ruefully to himself.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
Gûren- My Heart  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“And that,” he said, pointing behind Thoron’s head as he saw that Hephaestion was stirring, “is Alexander’s husband, his name is Hephaestion.”

Thoron rolled his whole body over to his left and came face-to-face with Hephaestion, who smiled warmly at him. Thoron regarded him with that both eager and cautious curiosity of children, looking him over from head to toe in silence until he spotted the Elf’s protruding belly. He turned his head back to look at his ada’s own swollen stomach then back again at Hephaestion’s.

Both Legolas and Hephaestion tried to suppress their amusement at this elfling’s sparkling curiosity, practically watching his young mind work to figure things out. Finally Thoron rolled back over to Legolas and tried to whisper in his best imitation of an adult, “Is Physton bringing me a sister, too? I wanna broder, Ada, is he brining me a broder?”

Unfortunately, a four-year-old is woefully lacking in such fine-tuned vocal skills and his whispered question was more than loud enough for the other elf to hear. Hephaestion blushed gracefully and looked at Legolas before glancing at the two edain standing in the hallway.

Legolas ruffled his son’s hair and replied, “No, Gûren, he is not bringing you a brother or sister, but you will have a friend to play with when his son is born. Does that sound nice?”

Thoron looked momentarily dismayed but when he heard he’d have a new friend to play with and that it was going to be a boy his face lit right back up and he grinned at his ada. “Yes, will he come and wide with me? I hafta wide with Auntie Ahwen all the time. I wanna wide with a boy.”

Hephaestion muttered over Thoron’s head, “like father like son it would seem,” and winked at Legolas who was the one who blushed gracefully this time. He started tickling Thoron lightly on his stomach, a place he knew was extra sensitive, and Thoron rolled up into a little ball, laughing and clutching at Legolas’ hands. “What’s this? You don’t like riding with Auntie Arwen anymore?”

Thoron could only giggle and squirm, shaking his head from side to side in answer. “Well, I guess we shall have to remedy that, won’t we? Hephaestion, would you mind teaching your son how to ride so that our children might play together? My son has need of a riding partner.”

Hephaestion grinned and took up the game they were playing, tickling Thoron’s back with his left hand. “Why, Legolas, I would be delighted to teach my son how to ride. Every young hunter needs a hunting partner, does he not?”

“He does indeed.”

Both Elves were thinking the same thing at that moment but it was far removed from the frivolities of young boys riding and hunting. They were pondering the possibilities that would lie in wait for their offspring if they should ever choose to go down the same paths their adar had chosen. Their eyes met then and they nodded slightly to the other, silently acknowledging the unspoken decision to let the leaves fall where they may. 

Meanwhile, Thoron had had enough of the bombardment of three hands tickling him so thoroughly so he squealed once more and then managed to wiggle away from their grasp, gleefully proud of himself. He quickly crawled to the end of the bed out of his ada’s reach and then slinked over the side to crawl around between the posts and the wall. He was busy wriggling around on the floor under the bed when he heard his ada asking Physton where his son had disappeared to. Thoron giggled at his good hiding place and kept wriggling towards Legolas’ side of the bed, meaning to surprise his ada from his secret place. Upon reaching the head of the bed Thoron was about to scoot out from under the frame when he noticed something lying in between the nightstand and the left bedpost. He scurried up to it and looked at it from one side to the next, then decided his ada must have dropped it so he picked it up and resumed his escape to the world above.

“Hewe I am, Ada! And looky what I found! Is for you. Hewe.” Thoron promptly thrust the object into Legolas’ face before he stood up and ran out of the room in search of Auntie Arwen to find him something to eat. All that laughing and crawling about had made him hungry.

~*~


	7. Poisonous Charms

*~*~*~*~*~*

Legolas accepted what turned out to be a thrice-folded piece of paper from his son and was about to set it down on the nightstand next to the bed when he recognized Haldir’s handwriting. The March Warden had a very crisp style which was easy to read at a glance. ‘Now where did this come from, I wonder?’ he thought to himself as he settled in more comfortably. His brow furrowed in concentration as he began reading.

Hephaestion had repositioned himself into a slightly more upright reclined position and was smoothing down his hair when he glanced over at Legolas and saw his frown. “Legolas, is something amiss?”

Legolas didn’t seem to hear him at first. His eyes were scanning the page faster and faster as he read. “Legolas?” Hephaestion touched him softly on the shoulder as he repeated his name. The action paired with calling his name did the job and the blonde Elf suddenly stopped reading to glance over at a worried-looking Hephaestion.

“ _Goheno nin, mellon_. I am fine. It is a letter from Haldir that came bundled with the one from Our Lady; I must have dropped it and not noticed…” His attention fell back to the letter and his brow furrowed once more. 

“Is it bad news?”

“No…not necessarily. I hope not. I remember now he said he had something important to tell me, but I was…distracted shortly thereafter –” Legolas said with a quick glance toward the door where Aragorn was and then back at Hephaestion, who promptly understood the gesture, “– and I must not have noticed it was missing when I picked the pages up off the floor the next morning.”

“Oh, then surely it is something that demands your attention, please, go ahead. I will just lie back here for a moment and rest.”

“ _Hannon le, mellon_ ,” Legolas replied with a quiet smile. It was refreshing indeed to be around his kin again. So placid and non-meddlesome. Aragorn would have, in spite of his best intentions, needled Legolas for information about what news the letter contained, especially one written in Haldir’s own hand.

The Elf prince adjusted the pillow behind his head and began reading the letter in earnest. 

After pleasantries were written and a brief update of the goings-on in the Golden Wood given, Haldir recounted a visit paid him by one of Galadriel’s scribes.

_Mellon nin, I had the strangest conversation with one of Galadriel’s scribes this morning. He came to ask after your health and I informed him that you were well and everything was progressing on schedule and that you had taken to bed-rest at Aragorn’s behest to avoid stress as much as possible during the last several weeks of your term. He said he had heard that Hephaestion and his husband were going to be traveling to Minas Tirith and asked me if I knew how long they planned to stay with you. I told him that Hephaestion had informed me that he intended to stay for the birth of Tinúviel and probably for the birth of his son as well._

_Now, I do not mean to alarm you, Legolas, but the next thing he told me caused me great anxiety and I had to get back to my chambers to write this letter to you as soon as he was finished talking. Apparently he discovered a scroll that recounted a lost bit of Elven folklore concerning the prenatal habits, recommendations, and precautions for noble Elves who are bestowed by the Valar with the gift of bearing children._

_If this folklore is to be believed, and I see no reason why it should not be, it will be imperative that you take heed of this precaution of which I speak once your guests have arrived. I only wish you to be forewarned, mellon, so that you may act swiftly in light of the danger your visitors pose to the health and safety of yourself and your daughter, happy though you must be to see Hephaestion again.”_

Legolas stopped reading, his brows furrowed in consternation. He re-read the last sentence. ‘Danger? What could possibly be dangerous about his and Aragorn’s old friends visiting them?’ He read on, hoping it was not as dire as Haldir was making it sound.

_“One of the precautions spoke of the perils posed by the bondmates of other noble expectant Elves. Hopefully you will have received this letter upon their arrival and my alert will serve you well so that no ill befalls you. Let us ask the Valar to keep you safe from the unwittingly poisonous charms of the other remaining Dúnadan.”_

“For Elbereth!” Legolas exclaimed aloud before he could stop himself. Hephaestion startled awake beside him and a moment later Aragorn and Alexander burst into the room, faces drawn with worry at Legolas’ outcry.

“What is it, meleth?” Aragorn asked hurriedly, rounding the corner of the bed towards his Elf while Alexander headed towards Hephaestion, who looked very confused indeed.

A second later both Men froze in their tracks as a sharp cry of pain rent the air, followed by another, as both Elves suddenly seized up on the bed, hands going to clutch at their stomachs, arms and legs curling in on themselves as if to protect the treasures in their wombs from some unseen malevolent force.

The Dunedáin looked across the bed at each in horror. It was getting worse, then. Instinct kicked in and Alexander started backing out of the room, whispering comforting words to his husband that he would be right outside and that they would find out what was going on.

Aragorn hated to leave Legolas to his pain but he knew Alexander had the right of it and started retracing his steps, apologizing profusely to his husband in the process, when he stepped on a piece of paper, ah yes, the one Legolas must have been holding when he made that exclamation of shock a few moments earlier. He bent and picked it up on his way to the door. 

It was the letter from Haldir.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Just as Alexander and Aragorn reached the hallway outside the entrance to the bedchamber they saw Arwen come running around the corner, her skirts a wave of motion as she hurried up to them, worry etched into her brow.

“I heard cries of agony, what is wrong? Aragorn, where is Legolas?” she asked in a rush, clasping one of Aragorn’s arms to direct his attention away from the door through which he had just come. She looked from one Ranger to the other, both still staring back through the doorway, noting the pain-stricken looks on their faces as if they were the ones suffering terribly when she knew that the voices that had cried out were Elven ones. She looked into the room as well, seeing two shapes hunched over in the bed under the covers. Her forehead creased further in worry and now confusion. She turned back to Aragorn and tried again, “What is going on, _honeg_?”

“Please… go see to Legolas… we can’t… I didn’t want to… I don’t know why but it’s getting worse…” Aragorn mumbled in a voice cracking in distress, his eyes still riveted on the bed that could be seen at the far end of the bedchamber, Alexander holding on to Aragorn’s other side like his balance depended on it.

*****************  
honeg – little brother  
*****************  
Arwen didn’t know what Aragorn was talking about but she also didn’t need to be told twice to go see to her kin and so she gripped Aragorn’s arm solidly once before letting go and hurrying into the bedchamber.

“Legolas, Hephaestion, how do you fare? I heard cries of pain a moment ago,” Arwen asked as she approached the grand canopied bed. 

The Silvan Elves were slowly uncurling themselves from the protective fetal positions they had adopted at the intrusion of some invisible force that had pierced them with arrow-like sharpness mere moments after their husbands had neared their bedside.

Arwen sat down on Legolas’ side of the bed and waited for one of them to speak. Their faces were pale and wan, a frightened look in their eyes as they tried to regain normal breathing patterns and rearrange themselves into a reclined position on the bed.

Legolas reached down to smooth the covers over his stomach and answered Arwen’s question as he did so, “It is passing now, I believe I am alright,” he turned to look at Hephaestion, “and you, mellon?”

Hephaestion nodded his head slowly, brushing his hair out of his face and taking a deep breath before adding, “Yes, I feel better now.” Then he turned to Arwen. “Thank you for coming to check on us, Lady Arwen,” he said quietly.

Arwen dipped her head with a small, concerned smile. “How do the little ones fare?”

Legolas reached out to Tinúviel, his hand running over his stomach in search of her own little one, and when she pressed her little fingers into the palm of his warm hand, he sighed with relief and briefly closed his eyes as she reassured him that she was alright, although very confused and worried on his behalf.

“Tinúviel says she is alright, the pain does not seem to have reached her, thank the Valar,” Legolas replied as he re-opened his eyes to regard Arwen. Off in the distance he could see Aragorn and Alexander rooted to the spot outside their bedchamber, arms around each other’s shoulders in support, heads craning for a better view of their beloveds over Arwen’s shoulder.

“Arwen, could you please let Estel know that I am well now, the feeling has passed, and that Tinúviel is unharmed?”

Arwen nodded and stood at once to leave before glancing at Hephaestion.

“Please relay to Alexander that our son and I are also feeling better now, thank you,” Hephaestion supplied in response to her unasked question.

“At once,” she replied, and turned to leave the room. “I shall return in a few minutes,” she added before walking out to the two Dunedáin standing impatiently and yet stock-still at the same time.

“How are they?” Alexander asked for Strider, who seemed to have lost the faculty of speech for the moment. He just stood there grasping a piece of paper in one hand, the other one hanging limply at his side, his eyes betraying his desperate need to go be by his husband’s side. 

Arwen noticed that with some effort he was able to draw his gaze away from the doorway and focus on her. “Legolas and Hephaestion want you both to know that they and their little ones are well and currently recovering their strength.”

“Thank the Valar,” Alexander let out the breath he’d been holding momentarily. He felt Strider sigh as well, his whole body shuddering for a moment before he dipped his head in relief, his eyes squeezing shut as he tried to maintain his composure.

Arwen sensed there was a compilation of worries that was besetting her brother with such anguish and fright, something that seemed to be worsening, as he had told her when she first approached them.

Addressing Alexander, who seemed to be more focused at the moment, Arwen asked with her eyes for some sort of explanation for their current predicament.

“We’re not really sure what’s wrong,” he told her, shoulders shrugging, “but I am now convinced that some nefarious force is at work and has been growing steadily stronger. It has now reached the point where Strider and I cannot be in the same room at the same time with our husbands without causing them sudden and severe attacks of physical distress to their abdomens that appear to be quite painful.” Alexander shifted his hold on Strider’s shoulder, gripping him a little tighter, trying to comfort his long-time friend but Strider remained listless.

Arwen frowned in consternation. “When did these attacks start?”

Alexander looked up at the ceiling as if to find the answer written there, a Human gesture that Arwen had always found interesting, and had come to know it meant they were thinking hard about something.

“Well, I suppose…” Alexander began as he lowered his head after a few moments’ reflection, “that the first sign that something was amiss was after we adjourned for the night last night. Hephaestion was more tired than usual and Legolas seemed to be suffering the same lethargy, which we first attributed to normal circumstances conducive to being with child. But then,” Alexander glanced at Strider briefly before returning his gaze to Arwen, “I confessed to Strider that I had felt this odd emotional pull towards Legolas when I first met him, and again later on while we were getting acquainted in the sitting room. He told me he had felt this odd stirring of warm feelings for Hephaestion as well but we didn’t really know what to make of it.

“Legolas and I took a turn in the garden early this afternoon because we both enjoy a good stroll amongst the trees and he was intriguing me with talk of the conversations he has with the birds in the garden when he suddenly bent over in pain and asked me to fetch his husband to his side.”

“So that was the first time he felt this pain in your presence?” Arwen asked.

“Yes, I believe so. I was on my way back to the study to alert Strider to the urgency of Legolas’ request when a servant came running up to lead me to my Hephaestion’s side and I found him to be in similar distress, having just overcome a painful moment of his own while he sat conversing with your brother.”

“And then everything was fine until a few minutes ago when you and Aragorn…?” Arwen trailed off, not knowing what had precipitated this most recent pain attack.

“We heard Legolas exclaim loudly his shock at something he was reading with or to Hephaestion and went in to check on them. We had stationed ourselves out in the hallway earlier to discuss things while our Elves rested and recovered from the day’s discomforting events.”

“How long were you in the room this time before they fell victim to this sudden malady?”

“Only long enough for us to reach their bedside. Strider and I stopped in our tracks and retreated immediately, so sudden was the change in our beloveds’ well-being,” Alexander’s gaze drifted off to the side, his voice dropping to a more subdued tone. “It was horrible, seeing Phai in such a state and seeming to be the cause of his torment, not being able to comfort him…”

Arwen could see that the Dúnedan was tearing himself apart inside, blaming himself for his husband’s suffering, no doubt feeling helpless at not being able to fight this invisible enemy.

She reached out to console Alexander, rubbing her pale slender hand up and down his arm in a gesture of comfort she had learned from Aragorn. Alexander looked up at her after a moment and smiled a soft, sad smile in thanks for her thoughtfulness…when all of a sudden his head perked upright and he looked from Arwen to the bedchamber and back, eyes aglow with enlightenment.

Arwen withdrew her hand cautiously, on edge at this sudden change in the Ranger’s behavior. “What is it, Alexander?”

“…You… you were just in the room with them… and nothing happened…”

Arwen tilted her head a bit at this seemingly benign and rather obvious observation. “Yes, I was… and?” And then she understood what he meant when he said that ‘nothing happened.’ Her eyes lit up in recognition. “You’re right, nothing happened!”

“It’s just us,” Aragorn spoke up for the first time since Arwen had returned, startling them both. Alexander and Arwen looked at him in shock, both at his renewed participation in the conversation they hadn’t even thought he was still following and at his words. He was looking at the piece of paper in his hands, a letter by the looks of it. Arwen leaned forward to look at the front side, seeing Elvish script elegantly penned in neat rows from top to bottom.

“Why do you say that, Strider?” Alexander asked as he peered over at the letter, too, which seemed to be of great interest to the king all of a sudden.

“It’s just us,” he repeated solemnly, “because we’re triggering our Elves’ natural defense mechanisms.”

He sounded so tired to Arwen’s ears. Defeated. ‘He must be blaming himself as well,’ she mused.

“Is that what the letter says, Estel?” Arwen asked softly, hoping her use of his childhood name would catch his attention and make him look up at her. She didn’t have to wait long.

He regarded her with tears skulking at the back of his eyes, just threatening to come flooding out. Arwen saw that he needed some Human comforting and fast so she opened her arms and Alexander let go of his shoulders. Aragorn stepped gratefully into his big sister’s soothing embrace, holding on for dear life as she softly rocked him to and fro there in the middle of the hallway.

Alexander slid the letter out of Strider’s hand and began to skim through it.

*~*~*~*~*~*


	8. The Levy Breaks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O_o So sorry about the delay in posting. Geez, it's not even a long chapter. My apologies. -_- Finally working our way to the resolution of this mystery. Oh so slowly ahahaha...

*~*~*~*~*~*

“Sit down before you fall down, my friend,” Alexander half-heard in Westron as an arm draped in familiar Ranger’s vestments gently pushed him backwards several feet whereupon the backs of his knees hit the legs of a high-back wooden chair. His momentum carried him down onto the cushioned seat but his gaze never wavered from the elegant Elven script he was expending all his mental efforts to decipher.

“Aye,” agreed the Ranger with a big sigh. “My head is swimming with Elven script and I think my eyes have crossed for good,” he replied in the Common Speech.  
“Cursed be the day I set off on that first long journey without pausing to take some Elven lore with me for practice.” He raised one hand to rub at his eyes as he felt Strider pull the letter from his other hand. 

“Not to worry, you are just out of practice, and the _most-esteemed_ March Warden here is a bit too fond of embellishment for a simple reading to take place. I can’t even make out everything he’s written and I’ve been reading Sindarin for years.”

The sound of barely contained disdain in Strider’s voice caught Alexander’s attention and made him stop his ministrations to regard the brooding monarch standing before him. “What of this fellow, Strider? You speak as if he has done you a personal disservice; it’s not like you to be so brusque, and certainly not towards the Fair Folk.”

That statement caught Aragorn up short and he felt his face grow hot with shame at his derisive offhand comment. He heaved a heavy sigh and gave a great stretch of his arms. Every muscle felt taut as a bowstring, quivering with nervous tension. He ran his hands down over his face both in exhaustion and embarrassment for his outburst. “Forgive me, Alexander, I am not myself today. There is no disservice, just the ghost of my jealousy – and a petty one at that – long-buried till now and come back to haunt me.”

“Ah, I see.”

His friend regarded him with a look of absolute understanding and Aragorn cracked what passed for a smile in these dire conditions. He was so relieved to be in the company of his Human kin right now. Legolas would never understand as had already become clear the other night, but Alexander was all too well-acquainted with the follies of Human emotions and needed no further explication. “Oh, Alexander, I don’t know what would have become of me by now if it weren’t for your calming presence.”

That statement earned him a short sardonic laugh from the Man seated in front of him where they were stationed down the hallway from the royal chambers.

“I do, you wouldn’t be in this quandary if not for my ‘calming presence’.”

“Do not blame yourself, my friend, you could not have known what dangers lay in wait for you upon your visit here,” Aragorn reassured his friend, glancing down at the paper in his hand, rather a bit crumpled by now from the sweat and nervous dread that had been rubbed into the edges of the fine papyrus. The texture of the paper on his callused fingers suddenly struck a chord inside Aragorn’s mind and he could suddenly see the connection that had been hidden from him in the darkness of the last 10 minutes or so. He felt his face go aflame once more but for an entirely different reason.

“I feel it is I who must shoulder the blame in this instance,” Aragorn admitted then, placing his free hand upon Alexander’s slumped shoulder.

Alexander looked up suddenly at this sudden confession of guilt. “Whatever for?” he asked with trepidation.

“Because it was I who, um…distracted my beloved in the midst of reading his Lady’s letter the night of your arrival,” Aragorn began haltingly, eyes darting around nervously. “The spirit of my long-repressed jealousy surely has fulfilled its Middle-Earthly mission and passed into the West by now…” Aragorn trailed off, his voice a mere wisp of sound, his hand sliding from Alexander’s shoulder to rub nervously at his own neck, his eyes finding the floor suddenly quite fascinating.

A moment passed during which time Alexander parsed the meaning behind Strider’s confession, whereupon a devilish smirk swept across his face, chasing away his concern into the Dark Realm. “Well, I’ll be an Orc’s uncle, Strider, I had no idea the Woodland Prince was such a lucky Elf! To be able to _distract,”_ he said with a leer, “a First Born from one of their single-minded missions so completely as for them to fail to return to said mission afterward bespeaks of such prowess, such stamina, such – ow!”

Alexander rubbed dramatically at the “sore” spot on his head where Strider had playfully swatted him with his hand, and grinned wolfishly up at his old friend. He had hoped to get a rise out of the other Man, to bring him out of himself for just a moment or two. The temporary relief sought in friendly banter and jest could be nothing if not cathartic, and Alexander intended to offer his fellow Dúnedan as much catharsis as possible, if for no other reason than to try and avoid being dragged down by feelings of anxiety about his own beloved and their son. 

“Serves you right,” Aragorn retorted, trying to sound affronted and failing spectacularly. He had to keep turning his head away from Alexander because each time their eyes met, his friend waggled his eyebrows in a most unseemly manner, which made Aragorn want to burst out laughing at all that gesture implied and this was not the time for it, surely!

“Stop that! I claim no such skills!” Aragorn did not snicker. He really didn’t. “Your mind is just rotting away from all the tawdry tales Rangers are passing ’round campfires these days. Why, your head would surely fall off your shoulders in shame if your Hephaestion heard you insinuating some of the things I know you were winding up to say!”

Now that Alexander had Strider all worked up into a good lather, there was no way he was stopping just yet. “How do you know that it wasn’t Hephaestion who told me of these lurid tales, hmmm? Have you not said so yourself that the best fireside stories are those told from personal experience?”

The dam finally broke and Aragorn released all his pent-up worry, frustration, and guilt in a giant guffaw of a laugh.

Alexander mentally patted himself on the back for being able to bring his dear friend some relief during this troubling time, and had a good laugh for his own sanity. He watched as Strider dropped the letter, forgotten just for the moment, and covered his face with his hands, as much to support his weary-looking countenance as to keep himself from breaking into little fits of laughter whenever he caught Alexander’s gaze, which was always conveniently smirking evilly at him. 

A few moments later, however, Alexander knew the time for levity had come to its logical end as Strider’s anxiety slipped its leash and came dashing back up to the forefront of his thoughts, scratching and clawing, begging to be let back inside. The Ranger saw the king of Gondor heave a great body-wracking sigh and begin to sob into the hands still guarding his face.

Alexander stood up and gently pulled Strider into a bear hug, rubbing his hands across his friend’s shoulder blades. He rocked them from side to side in a slow, comforting motion used to calm newborn babes.

“Shhhh… we’ll ask Lady Arwen to read the rest of the letter to us and I’m sure everything will be alright once we know the full contents of the missive. Do not trouble yourself so, Strider, we are all here for you.”

Alexander felt a tug on his tunic leg then and tilted his gaze downward to encounter a solemn-faced, sleepy-eyed Thoron at his side, probably alerted by all the loud noises, asking without words what was going on with his papa.

“Here, little Prince, grant your papa the solace he so desperately seeks.” Alexander pivoted away from Strider with his right arm to sweep Thoron onto his hip and bring father and son together. 

Aragorn pulled his hands away from his face to gather his son into his arms, sending a thankful glance over Thoron’s head of unruly curls at Alexander.

The Ranger bowed his head, picked up the letter, and went off in search of Arwen, determined to get down to the bottom of this mystery once and for all.

*~*~*~*~*~*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I didn't realize it so much when I was writing the last couple of chapters but in beta-reading them for posting, I've come to notice that Alexander is Aragorn's rock throughout this ordeal and I really like that about him. Sometimes you just need someone to lean on and it's not always the person you've made your home with, because they're not always in a position to understand where you're coming from, ya know.


	9. Strengths and Weaknesses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year :)
> 
> One of my resolutions for this year is to finish this story. So far so good. 
> 
> Sorry it took so long for me to post the next chapter but I had a lot of fun writing it today and hope you enjoy it ♥ 
> 
> Cheers.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Alexander found the Lady Arwen in the library wing adjacent to the bedchambers. As he sagged towards her he reflected on how no one seemed to want to venture too far away from the fragile residents of the royal suite this eve. The Dúnadan shook his head in disbelief at the mere thought.  
  
Fragile Elves.  
  
Who had ever heard of such a thing?  
  
Arwen looked up at the entrance of her brother’s oldest Human friend. To see him without his shadow meant that either Aragorn had finally worried himself to the point of exhaustion and was resting or he was attending to his son, the only link he currently had to his beloved Prince. Arwen hearkened to the latter of the two likelihoods.  
  
Alexander sank down onto a divan opposite her high wing-backed armchair in an unceremonious heap of limbs and gloom. He was growing despondent and it showed in the glassiness of his light brown irises, the weathered skin around his eyes creasing in new and everlasting lines as the weight of his troubles made him sink ever so slowly deeper into his moccasins.  
  
“I have become a liability,” he intoned on a sigh, his eyes staring off into the middle distance, unfocused, head turned, however, to address Arwen.  
  
“How so, Alexander?” Arwen set down the tome she had been leafing through. It was a book on ancient Elven medicinal herbs and remedies, but so far all she had encountered were recipes for healing mortal ailments. She had yet to discover a section covering ailments in expectant Elves, or any section on Elves for that matter. They were in Minas Tirith after all; she had to remind herself that they were far from the libraries of the Last Homely House, burgeoning with knowledge of Elfkind, or the learned scribes of her Lady in the forests of Lothlórien.  
  
She regarded the Dúnadan’s withdrawn features and defeated posture with growing concern. His earlier efforts to be the stronger of the two Men so as to bring comfort to his friend had him out and his strength was leaving him.  
  
Arwen dearly wished to ease their suffering but knew not how. Happily, she bore witness to one of the vagaries of life whereby a wish is fulfilled at the moment in which it is made.  
  
In reply to her question, Alexander held aloft the March Warden’s letter, now worried along each corner and smudged where both Men had gripped the papyrus ever tighter in consternation at their toils of decipherment.  
  
Arwen accepted the letter from the Ranger, who seemed to deflate upon passing the torch, in a manner of speaking, to a new champion in the quest to find the cure for his husband’s condition. She looked fondly upon the Man and began to quietly sing an Elven lullaby as his body curled itself up on the divan of its own accord and her soothing voice hushed his eyelids closed and his mind to rest.

  _…Lay down, your sweet and weary head_  
_Night is falling, you have come to journey’s end_  
_Sleep now, and dream of the ones who came before_  
_They are calling, from across a distant shore…_

Arwen’s voice trailed off once she could see that Alexander had succumbed to sleep and she consoled herself with a small smile. The daughter of Elrond settled back into her seat, tucked her bare feet underneath her, and began to read Haldir’s letter.

_Mellon nin, I had the strangest conversation with one of Galadriel’s scribes this morning. He came to ask after your health and I informed him that you were well and everything was progressing on schedule and that you had taken to bed-rest at Aragorn’s behest to avoid stress as much as possible during the last several weeks of your term. He said he had heard that Hephaestion and his husband were going to be traveling to Minas Tirith and asked me if I knew how long they planned to stay with you. I told him that Hephaestion had informed me that he intended to stay for the birth of Tinúviel and probably for the birth of his son as well._

_Now, I do not mean to alarm you, Legolas, but the next thing he told me caused me great anxiety and I had to get back to my chambers to write this letter to you as soon as he was finished talking. Apparently he discovered a scroll that recounted a lost bit of Elven folklore concerning the prenatal habits, recommendations, and precautions for noble Elves who are bestowed by the Valar with the gift of bearing children._

_If this folklore is to be believed, and I see no reason why it should not be, it will be imperative that you take heed of this precaution of which I speak once your guests have arrived. I only wish you to be forewarned, mellon, so that you may act swiftly in light of the danger your visitors pose to the health and safety of yourself and your daughter, happy though you must be to see Hephaestion again._

_One of the precautions spoke of the perils posed by the bondmates of other noble expectant Elves. Hopefully you will have received this letter upon their arrival and my alert will serve you well so that no ill befalls you. Let us ask the Valar to keep you safe from the unwittingly poisonous charms of the other remaining Dúnadan._

Arwen gasped in dismay at Haldir’s words. Her eyes darted over to the divan but she was relieved to see that the sleeping Man had not been disturbed by her sudden inhalation. ‘This must have been the passage that made Legolas exclaim out loud in surprise,’ Arwen thought as she focused on the subject of the last sentence.  
  
_…the other remaining Dúnadan…_  
  
She raised her head once more to consider the sleeping Ranger, and then looked back down at the placement of the smudges on the papyrus, which were located slightly below the line that disclosed such discomfiting news. So, Alexander had at least deciphered that much of Haldir’s letter, then. That explained his statement about considering himself a liability.  
  
Arwen had learned much of Human emotions from Aragorn over time but could only guess at the guilt and anguish the Dúnadan must currently be feeling.  
  
Her eyes drifted down to the papyrus once more, her graceful fingers deftly folding back the top two-thirds and holding it up to the light so she could read the bottom portion more clearly. The writing had become more slanted, some words curling into other ones as if the writer had become rushed in the composition of the letter and had sacrificed quality for quantity’s sake. Also, Arwen noted wryly, the March Warden was far too much in the habit of using archaic, flowery language to deign to use fewer, simpler words in the absence of more space on the scroll. It was no wonder the two Men had had such difficulty reading the letter.

_Now, mellon, heed my words carefully, for I do not mean to imply that Hephaestion’s bondmate is a danger to anyone as you see him. He is, after all, a Dúnadan and a Ranger of the North, bonded with one of our own. Obviously, he is to be regarded with respect for one of his kind. But in being so bonded to a noble Elf such as Hephaestion, who has been bestowed by the Valar with the gift of bearing children, their bond is both strengthened and weakened by this gift._

Arwen’s breath caught in her throat at this latest revelation. Weakened? What in Elbereth could that mean?

 _The bond between a noble Elf and his bondmate has to be strong enough to create life where otherwise there would be none. The gift bestowed by the Valar around which the bond grows must be protected at all costs. This bond is what grows into the child that is to be born. As you wrote me in your letters during your term carrying Thoron, your bond with Elessar became much stronger, sometimes to the point of feeling like you were stepping on each other’s toes because you were trying to placate each other so much. It turns out this heightened awareness of the other’s well-being was, in fact, instrumental to the success of your term and as a result, you have a healthy, happy, and strong little prince to love._  
  
_That is the strength of the bond. What I must tell you next is the most important, and I fear, most dangerous, part of the scribe’s discovery: The weakness of the bond. The connection that the expectant Elf has with his bondmate and their child is physical just as much as it is emotional. The Elf’s womb releases pheromones that only the bondmate of a noble Elf bestowed with this gift can sense. These pheromones help regulate the needs and wants of the expectant Elf. Thus the bond grows ever stronger between the bonded pair during the term and becomes intertwined in a new, parental way after the birth of the child._

Arwen sat up with a start. She suddenly realized what could possibly be going wrong here. It was all starting to make sense now. But she needed to be sure so she shifted her legs in the chair and read on…

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Arwen's lullaby lyrics are from J.R.R. Tolkien's poem/song "Into the West" from the Lord of the Rings movies.


	10. Love is Forever

Arwen sat up with a start. She suddenly realized what could possibly be going wrong here. It was all starting to make sense now. But she needed to be sure so she shifted her legs in the chair and read on…

     No dirweg! _At this juncture, mellon, I feel I must entreat your logical Elvish sensibilities to take the reins in this matter so that you might prevent your bondmate from succumbing to the rash and superfluous panic that so often drags Men into its chaotic whirlwind trap in the wake of unexpected news._  
  
“Too late…” Arwen muttered to herself, casting a wistful glance over at Alexander, passed out on the divan, one of two examples of exactly what the March Warden had implored Legolas to impede.  
  
*****************  
No dirweg! – Beware!  
*****************  
  
      _After having lived with Elessar for a long while now, in the reckoning of a Man that is, you will have no doubt surmised that he is susceptible to many types of ailments and frailties. One of those frailties manifests itself by testing the strength of a Man’s resolve to stay faithful and devoted to one of the Fair Folk to whom he has sworn fealty in life and in love. In normal circumstances, one might walk away from such a trial relatively unscathed in body and mind, albeit now bereft of the love of someone once held in highest esteem._  
      _This situation, however, is far graver, for the scribe looked grim indeed when he related to me that under no circumstances should the bondmate of an expectant Noble Elf be permitted to be in close proximity to any expectant Noble Elf other than his own beloved for any length of time, and most especially when the bondmates in question are Men. Strong, loyal, and fearsome though these Dúnedain may be, the aforementioned ‘poisonous charms’ of which I spoke are just so. The pheromones released by you are meant only for strengthening the bond between Elessar and yourself so that little Tinúviel may inherit the strength of her father and the grace of her adar. The pheromones that your companion Hephaestion releases are only meant for the Dúnadan Alexander and their child._  
      _Should these pheromones be absorbed by the wrong bondmate, the bond – which you could liken to a flower being watered and sunlit by both prospective parents – becomes poisoned by the nutrients that are incongruous with the expectant Elf’s needs. The flower soon wilts if it does not receive the water and light designed solely for its care and growth._  
     Av-’osto, _Legolas, for I am confident that with this advance warning, no harm should befall you while you have company from the Golden Wood. You and Hephaestion will have time aplenty to visit each other as will the Dúnedain. I am anxiously awaiting your return letter that will reassure me that my efforts have borne fruit, that you are safe and sound, and that you will soon be sending along glad tidings of our newest kinfolk. You will be welcomed most heartily to Lothlórien if you wish to grace us with your company once little Tinúviel comes along._ Gellon ned i galar i chent gîn ned i gladhog. _Please pass along my greetings to Thoron, Tinúviel, Lady Arwen, your guests, and Elessar, too, of course._  
  
Na lû e-govaned vîn,  
  
_Haldir_  
  
*****************  
Av-’osto – Don’t be afraid  
Gellon ned i galar i chent gîn ned i gladhog – I love to see your eyes shine when you laugh  
Na lû e-govaned vîn – Until next we meet  
*****************  
  
Arwen’s eyebrow rose in amusement at the flattering tone of Haldir’s farewell wishes, but soon set the letter down on the arm of her chair and leaned back to stare into the middle distance, lost in thought. The sequence of events that had occurred since the arrival of Hephaestion and Alexander ran across her mind’s eye as if she were watching them happen from afar.

First, the greeting and dinner during which the two friends met their bondmates’ beloveds and spent a merry evening together. Second, the following afternoon Legolas and Hephaestion had succumbed to the first wave of sudden ill-being and the Dúnedain had attempted to console them and tend to their needs. Third, as night fell, it became evident that the Rangers’ mere presence within the confines of the same room produced immediate and severe spasms of pain to bloom around, or possibly within the wombs of their Elves.

As far as Arwen was aware, her kinfolks’ condition had stabilized once the Men were quartered in a chamber down the hall. The night was slipping away from them now and dawn would be approaching soon enough. Arwen rose lithely from her chair, picked up the rumpled scroll, and set off determinedly for Legolas’ bedchamber. With the aid of Haldir’s letter, she was going to help them resolve this unfortunate circumstance before her brother and his friend surrendered to their guilt and anguish.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Arwen, please, come in.” His voice sounded more like his usual serene self, which brought a smile to her face as she slipped inside the room before closing the door quietly behind her. She observed the two Elves to be in repose on the bed but alert and curious to see what tidings she bore.

“How fare our beloveds?” Hephaestion asked softly from the right side of the large four-poster bed.

Arwen sighed before replying, “They are well enough in body but lag in spirit. They shoulder the blame for your current plight and have worried themselves into a fitful slumber.” Legolas’ countenance fell as this news was delivered and Hephaestion drew his hands down over his abdomen in a soothing gesture, most likely to comfort his young one. 

Arwen held up the letter from Haldir. “I am not solely the bearer of bad news, however, for I believe there is a way for us to resolve these unfortunate circumstances in which we find ourselves, because, that is all they may be.” Both of her listeners harkened to her words, their rapt attention entreating her to continue, their eyes glancing at the papers in her hands. “Take this and read the remainder of what Haldir wrote to you, Legolas, that we may discuss its meaning afterwards. I feel we may yet find cause for merriment on the occasion of Hephaestion and Alexander’s visit.”

Arwen folded herself into the plush high-backed chair that Estel employed to read to Thoron and Tinúviel at night before bed and waited patiently, as only Elves and possibly Hobbits are wont to do, for her kinfolk to examine Haldir’s missive.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Estel, Legolas bids you visit him for he longs to see you and Thoron.”

Aragorn just looked sullenly back up at his sister. How could he be requested to do such a thing when it was clear that his mere presence was a menace to his dearheart’s health and that of their daughter? It was now midmorning on the morrow and although he had heard of no new maladies striking the Elves overnight, Aragorn was of no mind to further endanger his family.

Thoron, as children so often are, was of a different mind. He lifted his head with interest from where he was snuggled up against his papa, listening to a story about the mighty Rohirrim of the Riddermark. His eyes sparkled and he smiled up at his Aunty Arwen before twisting his head to look askance at his papa. “Can we go see Ada now, Papa, can we, huh, can we?”

Aragorn set his free hand on top of Thoron’s head to smooth back a smattering of unruly brown curls from his forehead in a comforting gesture, although he was sure it was more for his comfort than that of his son. “We have to wait, Thoron, until the dan- until later, and then we will go see your ada.”

“Then wait no more for that time is now,” came his sister’s entreaty from the doorway. Aragorn frowned and regarded Arwen anew. She was smiling. Not for Thoron’s benefit—that doting smile which she bestowed upon her nephew when she was about to spoil him—no, this was the smile she used when she wanted to tell Aragorn he was being a worrywart but couldn’t say so in front of the child. 

“Arwen, I made it no further than a half-dozen steps inside the bedchamber yesternight before Legolas–” Aragorn glanced down at Thoron—now thumbing through the pictures of his book, attention diverted for the moment—then back to look sternly at Arwen, “…before I had to retreat again. I still know not why that is, and until I do, I shall not venture forth.” He tried to convey his concern with his eyes instead of his words. Why was his sister being so insistent he go see to Legolas? Had they not suffered enough already? Unless…

“Unless you know something?” He sat up a little straighter in the high wingback chair. “What of the rest of the letter?” His eyes sparkled with hope. “Speak, I implore you, if you know something I do not.”

“I am but the humble messenger,” said his sister with that impish look that always meant she was up to something. Apparently, it mattered not whether your siblings were of your blood or your kind, they could still vex you beyond your wit’s end.

Aragorn crossed his arms and scowled. He was out of sorts, out of sleep, and both his stomach and his heart ached. His son was a champion pouter at age four, so between the two of them, Aragorn felt they would make a formidable team.

His scheming sister merely bowed her head and came forward to ruffle Thoron’s luscious head of curls momentarily before turning to leave the room. It was a favorite endearment amongst Thoron’s family and it always made him giggle. “As you wish, my lord. I shall inform his Highness that you are indisposed. Oh, and if there is anything you would like to add, a messenger will be departing this afternoon for the Golden Wood with a letter of mine and Legolas’ reply to Haldir’s letter, expressing his heartfelt thanks for Haldir’s quick thinking and utmost regard for his dear friend’s well-being and that of your daughter,” here she paused with her hand on the door handle just before she slipped out into the hallway, adding over her shoulder as if it were merely an afterthought, “I’m sure Haldir will be very pleased to hear that Legolas has accepted his invitation to visit him and my Lady once my niece is born. He wrote so warmly of Legolas in his letter, after all…” and pulled the door closed behind her.

‘If that doesn’t get him out of that chair, nothing will,’ Arwen thought. She walked back to Legolas’ rooms to let him know that Aragorn and Thoron would be by shortly, a satisfied look on her face.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Ten minutes later, Aragorn was beside himself with frustration at his predicament. Arwen’s parting words were still running amok inside his head, setting fires like pillaging Orcs, and generally just wreaking havoc on his already frayed nerves. 

He paced up and down the small room, occasionally walking up to the door to peek out into the hallway. He wanted more than anything to go see to his bondmate but his infernal jealousy had reared its ugly head at the mention of the March Warden, which produced in Aragorn a dark desire to intercept Legolas’ reply letter and tear it to pieces. 

Thoron glanced up at him every few minutes or so from his perch on the chair where they both had been seated, still perusing the book about the Rohirrim, picking out the letters and words he knew how to pronounce and reading them out loud, amusing himself with how they sounded.

It would seem that perhaps Arwen, Hephaestion, and Legolas had read the entirety of the letter and had found a cure in its contents? He should go at once to confirm the likelihood of such a claim. Gathering his courage, he pulled open the door and stepped into the hall, attempting to put his plan into action. Until, that is, he heard Thoron come up behind him, grasp him by the hand, and ask if they were off to see Ada now. Aragorn nodded but was subsequently seized by a panicky feeling that more harm would befall his husband if he entered the room the way he had the night before, unwittingly causing his loved one and his friend more pain from the unexplained malevolent force hovering over their heads.

The king stopped short of the door to Legolas’ bedchamber and half-hid behind, half-leaned against a structural pillar across the hall for support, feeling his courage being leached out of him once more. He felt a tug on his arm and looked down to regard the curious look on his son’s face. Aragorn sniffled, tried to straighten his posture to exude a little more confidence, and then squeezed his son’s hand gently. He remembered in that moment that Thoron had faced no such difficulty yesterday when he ran into the room, and an idea struck him. He focused a watery smile down at Thoron and asked, “Why don’t you go say hi to your ada for me, first? I will be there in just a moment, Papa needs to um… just go on in there, okay?”

Thoron’s face broke into a smile and he nodded enthusiastically and ran off immediately. He pulled the big door open just wide enough to slip himself through the aperture. From his hiding spot across the hallway, Aragorn could hear him exclaiming, “Ada! Ada, _man cewig_? Here I am!”

“ _Gûren,_ how I have missed you!” 

The sound of Legolas’ mellifluous voice carried out into the hallway and all feelings of righteous indignation that Aragorn felt towards the March Warden dissipated just as suddenly as they had appeared. His heart yearned to see his lover, his mind burned to know if Arwen and the two Noble Elves had deciphered a panacea from the learned words of that scribe in Lothlórien, but his brain was too scared to direct his body to enter the room and cause Legolas or their daughter any more trouble, so he remained rooted to the spot. He didn’t hear any remarks from Hephaestion so maybe he was still sleeping.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
Gûren – My heart  
Man cerig? – what are you doing?  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Legolas looked up with a start from the letter he’d read thrice over in the last half-hour, his face brightening considerably at the sound of his son’s voice. He opened his arms to envelop him in a hug before Thoron clambered onto the bed and tucked himself under his left arm, against his chest. He watched delightedly as Thoron carefully placed his left hand on the sheet covering the protrusion of Legolas’ belly to say hi to his little sister. Tinúviel pushed at his hand with hers, sending a suffusion of warmth through adar and Elfling.

Thoron grinned up at Legolas, who returned the smile easily. “Thoron, where is your papa? I had hoped to see you both this morning,” he asked, trying not to let his disappointment or concern show on his face.

In answer to his question, Thoron turned his head towards the door of the bedchamber and yelled at the top of his lungs, “Come in, Papa! Ada wansto see yew, too!” The four-year-old turned back to his ada, shrugged his shoulders adorably, and replied, “He wansto pway hide-n-go-seek, but I don wanna play wight now, I wanna be wichu,” and promptly snuggled deeper into Legolas’ side and contented himself for the moment by wrapping some of Legolas’ hair around and around his chubby little fingers and playing with Tinúviel, tracing patterns with his other hand for her to follow.

Legolas’s heart swelled at his son’s words and gently ran a hand through those beautiful brunet curls before he looked over to the partially opened door and called out softly, “Estel? Please come in, I’ll be fine, I promise.” He hoped the earnest tone of his voice would convince Aragorn to brave the doorway.

Sure enough, the face he longed to see most in this world right now, aside from his son’s, tentatively peered around the edge of the door, taking in the surroundings as if something might have changed overnight that could catch him unawares. When his eyes found Legolas’, they held each other’s gaze for a long moment, a myriad of emotions flashing across the room.

Aragorn couldn’t believe how well-rested his husband looked. It had been twelve hours since last they met. Those twelve hours had been the longest of his life and yet, at the same time, he felt like he could wait as long as he must to be absolutely sure the danger had passed. He wanted to see his husband more than anything in Middle Earth but he just couldn’t bring himself to jeopardize the safety of his family or that of Alexander’s by waltzing into the room until he was positively certain since he was ignorant of what was causing their distress. He would just have to withstand the paranoia and circular thoughts until then.

He wasn’t sure where Alexander currently was but he was sure his friend felt the same way. He would just tell Hephaestion that he could slip away for a moment to go find Alexander for him… 

Wait a moment.

His gaze traveled to the right side of the bed. It was empty. He looked back at Legolas, confusion and worry writ large on his face.

“ _Av-’osto, meleth,_ Hephaestion is well and currently resting in his own chambers,” Legolas explained in a soft, soothing tone. “Arwen fetched Alexander and the two of them went back to their rooms a short while ago.” Aragorn’s eyebrows rose with a start. “All is well, Alexander awaited Hephaestion out in the hallway,” Legolas added gently. “Please come in, _a’mael_ , we’ve both missed you terribly.” 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
Av-’osto, meleth – Don’t be afraid, love  
a’mael - beloved  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Legolas felt Tinúviel stop tracing the patterns Thoron was leaving to stretch out her other hand, pressing insistently against the walls of Legolas’ womb. The Elf smiled down at her before looking over to see Aragorn now standing just inside the door, stiff as a deer listening to the wind. “We’re both fine, see? She’s reaching out for you, Estel.”

Aragorn looked so lost but after a few moments he seemed to find his voice at last to ask, albeit shaky and quiet, “ _Gwestog_?” 

Legolas held out a hand and waited, his gaze warm and confident. Aragorn was transported in that moment back to that fateful night five long years ago when he had first met this dazzling creature in the Mallorn grove. Legolas had regarded him without fear and engaged him in honest conversation upon being discovered in his hideout. In the midst of all his fretting over this mysterious dilemma, Aragorn had forgotten for a moment that his beloved always spoke with conviction and never prevaricated. He held out his own hand and edged his way over to the bed. 

He could – no, he _would_ – be strong if Legolas said it was safe.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
Gwestog? – Do you promise?  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Legolas’ smile grew fond as he took his beloved’s hand, and, placing his own on top, led them to lie over the spot where Tinúviel maintained her palm pressed against the womb. The four of them were reunited in that moment and Aragorn felt a sense of peace wash over him like a wave. Like the wind. Like the steady beat of his daughter’s heart. He looked down into Legolas’ loving eyes and promptly burst into tears. 

So much for being strong.

Legolas’ smile changed again and became one of comfort as he held up the blanket and Aragorn and Thoron scooted under the covers to arrange themselves until both children were cocooned between their parents. The two monarchs lay there with their foreheads touching, arms wrapped tightly around each other, whispering each other’s names across the pillow.

Thoron reached up and caught a tear on his finger as it dripped from the edge of Aragorn’s chin. “Ada, is Papa crying?” he asked quietly while examining the crystalline teardrop being absorbed into his skin.

Legolas smiled fondly and replied, “Yes,” at the same time that Aragorn grimaced, apparently worried that their son might think he was hurt or something. 

“ _Am man_?”

“He’s just happy, _gûren_.”

Thoron sounded rather unconvinced when he replied, “Oh.” Legolas tried to hide the chuckle his son’s response brought to his lips. He knew Thoron wanted to ask more questions, his Human side was always so curious, but his Elven side seemed to sense that this was not a time for such inquiries. That, and his reply turned into a sleepy yawn as he burrowed a little more deeply under the covers.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
Am man? – Why?  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Shhh,” Legolas cooed when Aragorn’s lips started to tremble, rubbing his right hand up and down Aragorn’s back. “Everything will be well again, worry not, _meleth_.”

“You’re not- but how- what did the letter–” Aragorn struggled to ask, his voice muffled behind the hand that was trying to whisk away the tears that kept escaping down his cheeks.

“Shhh, I’ll explain everything later, just rest for now.”

He felt Aragorn’s back expand and contract as he released a long shaky breath, sniffled, and made a visible effort to relax all of the muscles that had been held tense since the day before. He nodded, and his breathing started to even out as well. Little Thoron let out another big yawn and he settled in for his customary midday nap.

“ _Ollo vae,_ ” the Elven monarch murmured to his family. He then tilted his head up the slightest bit to brush a sweet kiss to Aragorn’s still trembling lips. “ _Le melin_ , Estel,” he whispered, his words caressing Aragorn’s skin. The Man smiled sleepily back at his Elf and sighed out, “and I you, _melethron_ ,” as he drifted off, finally able to rest.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
Ollo vae – Sweet dreams  
Le melin – I love you  
melethron – lover  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Legolas continued rubbing Aragorn’s back as he sang their favorite Elvish lullaby to guide all of their dreams down the toll roads to Númenor.

~Two Weeks Later~

“Come meet your little sister, Thoron,” Legolas beckoned to his son, who was currently hiding behind his papa’s legs where Aragorn stood in the doorway to their bedchambers leaning against the lintel. Their brash little Boy had suddenly metamorphosed into a shy little Elfling once Tinúviel had been born, and had yet to set foot in the room to officially greet her.

Arwen sat next to the bed where Legolas and her niece lay resting after their evening nap and smiled at Thoron encouragingly, patting her lap in invitation.

“ _Tolo ar nin, ionneg,_ ” Aragorn beamed down at his son and suited actions to words as he picked Thoron up so that he could have an eagle-eye view as his papa strode into the room and over towards the bed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
Tolo ar nin, ionneg – Come with me, son  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Aragorn promptly deposited Thoron in Arwen’s lap. She hugged him until he squealed with laughter and protested that she was squishing him before relaxing her grip to hold him by the waist. Aragorn helped Legolas prop himself up against the headboard so that he could better present his daughter to her newly minted big brother.

Tinúviel blinked her owlish blue-grey eyes at Thoron and grabbed onto the finger that suddenly came into view with all five of her tiny fingers. The connection made both siblings smile as it was something they were very familiar with from the final weeks of Legolas’ term. 

Aragorn leaned down to kiss the top of his husband’s head, reveling in the joy of this moment. His heart was full to bursting and he couldn’t believe his good fortune. The trials and tribulations of the last several weeks had tested his fortitude like nothing ever had before. Legolas held up his hand not cradling the baby and Aragorn twined their fingers with practiced ease. If it hadn’t been for the love of his husband, the support of his sister, and the friendship of his fellow Dúnadan, the king of Gondor knew he would not be standing here today, welcoming their daughter to Middle-earth, and for that he knew he would be forever grateful.

In that moment Alexander stepped into view unexpectedly, like he had been summoned by a Wizard’s staff at the behest of Aragorn’s thoughts, his presence filling in the doorway with only a slight hesitation, as if worried he might be intruding.

Aragorn, who could not contain his excitement at seeing his fellow Ranger for the first time in a fortnight, called out in Westron, “Alexander, come join us, my friend!” 

Alexander grinned back at Strider’s jubilant greeting but before he made any move to progress into the bedchamber he looked over at Arwen to double check that this was a safe move to make. He saw Strider’s eyes widen in realization and he, too, looked to Arwen for reassurance that all was still well. 

Arwen quickly smiled and beckoned Alexander to come in. “Nay, do not worry yourselves any further.” She turned to regard Aragorn as well. “I have since received an answer from the scribe in Lórien to the questions I posited about post-birth conditions and he informed me that precautions only need to be taken during the term. Once a child is born, the special pheromones subside, leaving the adar and child hale and hearty.”

At this news, Alexander’s eyes lit up and he dashed back into the hall behind the open door, back an instant later with his husband who was carrying a precious bundle in his arms. 

Aragorn’s breath caught in his throat as Hephaestion walked into the room practically glowing with the radiance of first-time fatherhood. He bent down to whisper into Legolas’ ear, “That’s how gorgeous you looked right after Thoron was born,” before kissing the skin next to the lover’s knots Legolas had worn ever since they had married.

Legolas shivered at the way his lover’s words danced across his skin. Aragorn knew what whispering into his skin did to him when they were alone and yet, strangely it had an even stronger effect when they were in public where they were supposed to behave more decorously. 

Once the shiver had worked its wonderful way through his body, he regarded with amusement the manner in which Alexander almost tripped over his own two feet in his haste to find a chair for Hephaestion to sit in, procure a pillow for his back, plus one on which the baby could rest, and then to stand behind the chair, his hands half-resting, half-massaging his husband’s shoulders, an adorably childlike grin on his handsome face, a nervous energy pulsing through him as if to announce that he was ready at the drop of a hat to attend to Hephaestion’s every need.

Legolas placed a hand on Aragorn’s smirking chin and tugged until their eyes met. The mischievous twinkle in the blue Elven orbs spoke of better things to come when they retired to their rooms for the night. Many, many things. Flicking his gaze over to the besotted Dúnadan, and then back to Aragorn with a very pointed look, Legolas whispered back, “And that is how you looked. Who was it that you were saying the other night had ‘won’ whom, hmmmm?” raising his eyebrow.

Aragorn’s smirk fell right off his face.

“That is what I thought,” Legolas said smugly and kissed his darling husband lightly on the lips in triumph before turning to regard his dear friend, who gave him a conspiratorial wink.

“He is beautiful, _mellon nin_ ,” Legolas told Hephaestion joyously, “what have you decided to call him?”

The Silvan Elf beamed back at him. “ _Hannon le._ ” He looked over his shoulder at Alexander before returning his gaze to Legolas to reply, “We decided to name him Beriadan, after Alexander.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
mellon nin – my friend  
hannon le – thank you  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Alexander stood up a little straighter and his grin took on a hint of fatherly pride. He saw Strider look up from the baby to regard him with a grin of his own. “Defender of Men! What a stout-hearted name for a young lad,” Strider praised with a laugh. “Why, he’ll be a chip off the old block, eh Alexander?”

“Let’s hope so,” the other Ranger said bashfully, ducking his head to kiss his husband’s temple.

The king went over to congratulate his friend, and the two Rangers broke into a conversation betwixt themselves, leaving Arwen to keep Thoron company for a few minutes while Hephaestion and Legolas cooed over their recent arrivals.

~*~

The monarchs spent many a day in joyful company with their guests during their visit. On the day that they received a letter from Rohan, they enjoyed revealing to Thoron that none other than King Éomer had sent word that he would be honored to come for a visit on Thoron’s upcoming fifth birthday.

Legolas and Aragorn had considered making it a surprise for the day of his birthday, but decided that Thoron might enjoy the anticipation of such an illustrious visitor ahead of time. And they were not mistaken. Thoron spoke of nothing else the rest of the night and it took Arwen, Legolas, _and_ Aragorn all reading him bedtime stories of Éomer’s brave adventures with the Rohirrim before he finally succumbed to sleep from sheer exhaustion and excitement.

After settling little Tinúviel and Beriadan down to sleep for the night in neighboring cradles within the nursery, Hephaestion, Alexander, Legolas, and Aragorn tarried in the library with its cozy fire, plush couches, and shelves full of dusty tomes, indulging in a night cap and each other’s company, at last, without a care in the world. 

Hephaestion finally got a chance to finish telling Aragorn the story of how he and Alexander had first met by the riverside, which led to some good-natured ribbing on Aragorn’s part and a particularly colorful retort by Alexander that Strider go kiss an Orc. Aragorn merely laughed his head off and drew Alexander into a bear hug, while Hephaestion and Legolas rolled their eyes fondly and smiled to each other at the antics of their beloved Men. 

When at last the hour grew late, and the feelings of love and adoration the Men had been holding inside all this time for the fathers of their children began to manifest themselves in more corporeal ways, now that their husbands had regained their lithe Elven forms, the visiting Silvan Elf and his Ranger bid the Elven Prince and his King a good night as each bonded pair could be heard making their way merrily back to their bedchambers. 

And a very good night it was.

 

~ The End ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I can't believe it took me this long to finish this story. A thousand apologies. I think I'll stick to posting only completed stories from now on.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it, I liked bringing these characters together, and I feel a sense of accomplishment in having been inspired by one of my favorite fantasy books to explore the theme of bondmates and pheromones in this story.
> 
> ♥, mythras_fire


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